The Firing of Tim McGee
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Tim screws up and loses his job. What will he do now and more importantly, can he get his old job back? McGeecentric of course, but the rest of the team is there as well. Final chapter is now up. I hope you like the bit of melodrama in the epilogue. :
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This story started out as an experiment to see if I could avoid dropping into angst at every opportunity. It's mostly successful with only occasion dips at that bottomless well. You can be the judge. I hope you enjoy it! References to events in seasons 3 & 4, but not season 5 because I wrote most of it before season 5 started.

**Disclaimer:** Of course, they're not mine. If they were, I'd be rich and not living in a rented basement.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Oh, no." The words weren't spoken so much as exhaled.

At first, Abby didn't pay much attention. Tim usually got so uptight about his work that he thought his life was over at least three times a day. He still hadn't learned the fine art of discerning when things were _really_ important and when the bosses were just trying to be difficult. Then, when she glanced over, she saw in his eyes that this was a real "oh no" moment.

"What happened, McGee?"

"She's going to kill me, Abby. And when Gibbs finds out, he'll probably dig up my body and kill me again."

"What did you do?"

"They're gone. Every single one."

"What do you mean they're gone? That's impossible. They can't just be gone. They have to be somewhere." Abby walked over to where Tim had been working. She leaned over him and starting searching.

Tim pushed her hands away. "They're not. I've been trying to find them for the last hour."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"I was too busy watching my life flash before my eyes." Tim closed his eyes and grimaced. This was very bad. "I have to go tell her."

"Want some moral support?"

"No. I'll be okay. She can't commit murder in the middle of a federal building." Tim tried to smile, but Abby could see how sick he was at having lost the entire case. She didn't blame him. He was in big trouble. She couldn't figure out how a computer geek like Tim could just lose a whole set of files. Tim stood up and looked like a man heading to the firing squad.

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"Hey, McGeek. How goes the file hunting?" All Tony knew was that Tim was doing some extra work for the Director while they had some down time. Gibbs and Ziva were assisting another team in clearing a massive crime scene and Tony was catching up on weeks worth of unfiled reports. Gibbs had threatened to kill him if he didn't get them done. He looked up as Tim walked past him to the stairs. He was pale and didn't respond to the teasing at all.

"McGee, what's wrong?"

Tim didn't respond, didn't even slow down as he climbed the stairs to Director Shephard's office. Tony was slightly worried, but sat back down and continued his own work. Tim was in the office a long time. Suddenly, the door opened and Tim came out. As he walked down the steps, Tony glanced up and then stared. Tim looked, if anything, much worse than he had when he'd ascended.

"McGee, what's going on?"

Tim didn't say a word until he'd reached the bottom. Then, he looked at Tony and said weakly, "Where's Gibbs?"

"He and Ziva are clearing a crime scene. Why?"

In the same weak voice, he said, "Oh, no reason. Do you have a box on hand that I could use?"

"Um, sure." Tony handed Tim a cardboard box left from his last computer replacement.

"Thanks." As if in a trance, Tim walked over to his desk and started to put his personal items in the box.

"Whoa, McGee, what are you doing?"

"Packing my things."

"Why?"

"I-I just got fired."

"What?"

"I screwed up big time, Tony. Director Shephard fired me."

"You must be mistaken."

"No," he said and laughed. His laughter was tinged with hysteria. "She was very clear."

"Just wait until Gibbs gets back. He can clear this up."

Tim shook his head. "I have ten minutes to clear out my desk and leave the premises. I don't want to leave anything behind for my replacement."

"Replacement? Now, I know you're kidding, McGee."

Again, with a hopeless look in his eyes, Tim shook his head. "She started to look for another agent while I was still in the room."

"What did you do?"

Tim just shook his head once more and looked at his desk. He'd never kept many personal items there. It was just his desk. Not anymore. Now, it would belong to someone else.

"What?"

"I lost the files. All of them. I was working through them and then they were gone."

"What files?"

"The-the ones that–" Tim broke off. This wasn't supposed to be common knowledge as yet. _Not until I finished my assessment_, he thought ironically. "The files the Director had asked me to analyze. They're gone and I don't know how it happened."

"And she fired you?"

"Yes." Tim looked around once more and then started to walk to the elevator.

"Wait, McGee. Wait for Gibbs."

Once more, Tim shook his head. "Thanks, Tony. Bye." He stepped on the elevator and Tony watched helplessly as his colleague just seemed to disappear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tim stumbled into his apartment and dropped the box on the floor. He didn't remember much of the drive back. His mind was whirling. He'd never been fired before. He felt like his whole life had just been snatched from him leaving him empty. His job, his friends, everything he loved was gone. He knew he'd survive and find another job, but for the moment, he didn't even try to do more than wallow in self pity. He felt that his life was over.

Tim turned around and looked at his door. There were three extra locks on it. After the last time Tony had broken into his apartment, he had decided to take steps to be sure that he couldn't do it again. He turned the extra locks and then, for added security, he propped a chair under the doorknob. He knew Tony would show up eventually, and while he appreciated the gesture, right now, he couldn't deal with Tony's method of cheering people up.

Tim walked into his bedroom and slid to the floor by his bed. There was time to mourn the loss. He could worry about what to do next later. Right now, he just wanted to be alone.

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"Tony, where's McGee?" Gibbs asked. "Abby said he hadn't come back down to the lab."

"Um, he's gone, Boss."

"What do you mean, he's gone?"

"The director fired him."

Gibbs face went blank. Tony could almost see the wheels turning and knew what he was thinking: _How dare she?_ But all he said was, "Why?"

"I'm not entirely sure. McGee said something about losing some files."

"And she fired him?"

"Apparently," Tony said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Where is he?"

"He left. She only gave him ten minutes to clear out his desk and leave."

Without another word, Gibbs climbed the stairs to the director's office.

Ziva looked at Tony. "How bad was it?"

"I don't know. McGee just said that all the files from Jenny were gone. I guess he lost them and you know how the Director has been lately."

Ziva groaned. "He's lucky she didn't kill him."

"From the way he looked, I think he might have preferred that."

Gibbs came back down, stony-faced.

"When is McGee coming back, Boss?"

"He's not."

Ziva and Tony exchanged worried glances. This was worse than they had thought. Gibbs had backed down to Jenny?

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The sun had gone down. It was dark in Tim's apartment, but he still sat in the same place. He couldn't figure out how the files had simply disappeared. The previous week, an anonymous tip had resulted in a mass of data on some U.S.-based arms dealer. There had also been a slight indication that it could have been related to La Grenouille, although Tim had decided early on that it was only wishful thinking that this was someone related to the director's obsession. He had been surprised that Director Shephard had trusted him with something so potentially important, and he had spent hours going through all the data trying to figure out if it was genuine or if it was a wild goose chase. One minute he had been comparing routing numbers. The next, the screen flickered and the dreaded "File not found" error message had appeared. It was infinitely worse than the blue screen of death. At first, he had thought there was a chance to get them back. They were backed up on the hard drive, but when he had tried to access them, he again got "File not found." How had it happened? His thoughts were interrupted by the expected sound of his lock being picked. He actually smiled as Tony realized he still couldn't open the door.

"McGee, I know you're in there. Open the door."

Tim didn't move. He was still miserable, but he had a feeling of satisfaction that he had finally, on his last day, outwitted Tony.

The pounding continued for a few minutes until Tony gave up. His phone rang. He looked at the Caller ID and saw that it was Abby. No. He couldn't talk to any of them right now. He switched off his phone.

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"What do you think, Tony?" Ziva whispered the next day. They were both pretending to work. Gibbs hadn't been around for over an hour. Everything felt off.

"About what?"

"About McGee, of course."

Tony shrugged. "I don't know. I thought for sure he'd be back by now."

"That's what I mean. Why did Gibbs back down?"

"It's not like him, that's for sure."

"How's McGee taking it?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him."

"Abby's worried. He didn't answer his phone last night."

Before Tony could answer, Gibbs walked by with what was probably his fourth or fifth coffee of the day. The conversation broke off abruptly.

"Let's go," Gibbs said shortly.

"Where to, boss?"

"A warehouse. The body of an NCIS computer technician was found about an hour ago. He's been missing for a week."

Tony and Ziva looked at each other and didn't even bother to ask about Tim's replacement. Instead, they grabbed their gear and followed Gibbs in uncharacteristic silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

When they got to the warehouse, they saw three punk-wannabe teenagers all looking distinctly ill.

"Those the kids who found the body?" Tony guessed.

Ziva smirked. "If they throw up, it won't do much for their tough image."

As they entered the warehouse, Gibbs said, pointing to a spot on the floor, "I think they already did."

Ziva turned a little green, but said nothing. The officer in charge came over to brief the team.

"Hi, you're the guys from NCIS?" At Gibbs' nod, he said, "I'm Detective Jenkins. Those three over there snuck onto the lot before school this morning. It's a popular hangout for the kids who think they're tough. They found the guy in here and freaked out. One had the presence of mind to call 911 after he tossed his cookies. We came and found the body like this." He pointed over at the corner. "We verified his identity with the missing person report...we were lucky his face was mostly intact."

"Wow." Tony couldn't think of much more to say.

There was blood, although not a lot of it. What was shocking about the body was the fact that it had been disemboweled, was missing one of its eyes and had bones sticking out of the skin on each limb.

"This man was... put through the ringer," Ziva said, looking at Tony for confirmation.

He just nodded. "I hope he wasn't alive for all of it."

Gibbs gave his orders. "DiNozzo, photos. David, canvas the area. I'll go talk to the boys."

Gibbs stalked over to the three high schoolers. He was still in a bad mood, but he tried to be at least a little non-threatening

"Which one of you saw the body first?" he asked.

One of the guys raised his hand. He was still deathly pale. It was only with great effort that Gibbs didn't start to laugh at the sight of a kid with tattoos, body piercings, and intentionally ripped clothing, who would probably be the tough guy everywhere else, acting like he was in kindergarten.

"Did you touch the body or move it in any way?"

"No way, man," Gibbs gave him a death glare, "uh, sir. I took one look at it and puked. Lee had his cell phone so we called 911, but none of us touched him. He was way past dead."

"Did any of you see anyone hanging around? A car, someone lingering near the door?"

All three shook their heads. The one identified as Lee elaborated, "It was pretty early for anyone to be here. We all snuck out and met up here to, uh..." he trailed off, no good excuse coming to mind.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "–study, perhaps?"

Looking relieved, Lee nodded vigorously, "Yeah. I mean, yes, sir. To study."

"Right. If any of you think of anything else, give me a call." On a whim, he added, "We'll be contacting your parents later on so we can get official statements, fingerprints and such."

"Fingerprints? What for?"

"To eliminate you as suspects, of course." Gibbs noticed Ducky and Jimmy pulling into the lot and turned and walked back into the warehouse, a wicked smile on his face.

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Tim woke up, chagrined to find himself still on the floor. _This is ridiculous_, he told himself firmly. _People get fired all the time and their lives don't end. Get a grip, Tim._ He stood and stretched, arching his back painfully. That had not been a good idea. He turned his phone back on, no sense in avoiding the outside world. The question still remained of what he was going to do now. He didn't have a clue. Getting fired would be a problem on his resume. Again, Tim pushed the thought from his mind. He had plenty of money for now. He could continue his sequel. Sure, his inspiration had been removed. Tim clenched his fists as he tried to keep from thinking about it. He _was_ a writer. That didn't change, no matter what job he had... or didn't have.

He walked to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. "What you need, Tim, is a change of scene," he said to his reflection. "How about a fancy hotel?" That was an idea. He convinced himself that this wasn't another way of avoiding his former coworkers. It was just a vacation. It had been years since he'd taken one. A few days in a nice hotel, perhaps some brainstorming, he'd be right as rain.

Tim squared his shoulders and nodded firmly at himself. "See, nothing to worry about. It's just a hiccup. Life happens that way sometimes." He turned and headed to the bedroom to pack some clothes.

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"So Ducky, what can you tell me?" Gibbs asked later that day. The unfortunate technician lay open to the world, literally.

"Well, Jethro, unfortunately for this young man, he was still alive for most of the torture."

"Torture? Are you sure?"

"Completely. There are indications of electrical burns in some pretty gruesome places if I do say so myself...and I'm sure every man in the world would concur. I'm sure _you'd_ agree, wouldn't you?" This last was directed at the corpse. "All the bones in his legs were broken, he shows signs of severe internal bleeding, and he was still alive when they disemboweled him. His eye, however, was removed post-mortem."

"Why would they take out his eye after he was dead?"

"I have no idea. A memento, perhaps?"

"The real question is what were they torturing him for?"

"I'm afraid he can't tell you that, Jethro. You'll have to get that information elsewhere."

"I'm aware of that, Ducky." Gibbs turned and started to leave.

"By the way, I heard that the Director fired Timothy yesterday. When will he be coming back?"

Gibbs stopped, but didn't turn around. Just the reminder made his blood start to boil. "He's not coming back, Ducky." He continued out of the morgue.

Ducky looked down at his patient. "Well, I never thought I'd see the day."

"What day, Dr. Mallard?" Jimmy asked as he came out of the freezer.

Startled, Ducky looked up. "Oh, hello Mr. Palmer. I was just telling Mr. Hanson here that I never thought I'd see the day that Jethro Gibbs backed down, particularly not to Director Shephard."

"So..." Jimmy trailed off. Everyone knew that Tim had been fired. Scuttlebutt had a way of getting around, but everyone had expected it would be temporary, particularly since Gibbs didn't take kindly to having changes made to his team without his say so. "McGee won't be coming back?"

"So it would seem... at least for now."

"You don't think it's permanent, then?"

Ducky smiled. "No, I don't. I don't think that Gibbs will let it stand. He'll find a way to bring Timothy back." He paused and decided to test a theory that had been percolating in his mind for the last few weeks. He glanced sideways at Jimmy and said, "If not, I suppose Agent _Lee_ might be brought in to replace him." Sure enough, a blush infused Jimmy's face. "Regardless, I have some samples for Abby. Take them up to her, please."

"Y-yes sir." Jimmy snatched the indicated samples and fairly ran out of the morgue.

"I got him, Mr. Hanson. Weight-lifting," Ducky muttered to the corpse and shook his head as he bent over it and continued his work.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"This isn't the best time to ask questions, Agent DiNozzo," Lt. Jill Ferris snapped as she looked up from her computer. "We're in the midst of rewriting our entire system. Mark Hanson's disappearance has left us no choice but to assume that our programs have been compromised." She went back to the computer.

"Well, Lt. Ferris, I think you should know that Hanson is no longer missing," Tony said, gauging her reaction.

Ferris looked up again. "You found him?"

"What's left of him," Ziva clarified.

"He's dead, then?"

"Yes."

"Any sign of interrogation?"

Tony looked up from his notes. "You don't seem too broken up."

"You didn't answer my question."

Tony nodded. "It looks that way."

Impatiently, Lt. Ferris stood and walked around her desk. "Hanson was as annoying as all get out. He was arrogant, opinionated, and waltzed around this place acting like he was better than everyone else. He came in when he felt like it and never kept to the set schedules. Normal rules didn't apply to him."

"If you felt that way, why didn't you fire him?"

Lt. Ferris sighed. "Because, quite frankly, he _was_ better than everyone else. He was a genius with computers. There was nothing he couldn't do. When he actually deigned to work, it was masterfully done. Irreplaceable."

Ziva looked at the other people in the office, frantically typing at computers. "Are most of the people in this office enlisted personnel?"

"Yes. Most of our work is with military weaponry and intelligence: development, protection and promulgation. Hanson was hired because he was a whiz with computer systems. His record was impossible to ignore. I almost wish we had now. Ignored him, I mean. We're starting almost from square one. He was involved in nearly every program. Do you have any more questions?"

"Just point out his desk and we'll be out of your hair."

Still annoyed, Lt. Ferris pointed out into the main office. "The only empty one. If you get lost, just follow the smell. He was a slob." Then, she sat back down at her computer and ignored the two agents.

"We really need McGee here," Ziva said, looking at the mess of Hanson's desk. It was a tangle of wires, mother boards, rotten fruit and miscellaneous other computer parts. "How do we know what's important?"

Tony shook his head. "We don't," he said as he turned off Hanson's computer. "After we finish processing, we'll take it all with us. Abby can look at it."

"All of it?"

"Everything."

"She's going to be thrilled." Ziva started dusting for prints. She stopped. "You know, Tony. This Hanson seems to be a combination of you and McGee."

"In what way?"

"He was a computer geek _and_ a lazy slob."

"Thanks, Ziva," Tony replied sarcastically. "But it sounds to me like _this_ guy didn't make mistakes."

"He obviously made one. At least McGee isn't dead."

"Only because Jenny didn't want to do all the paperwork."

Gathering Hanson's equipment took well over an hour. Ziva nearly screamed in frustration as she tried to disentangle the various wires which all seemed to be hooked up to another spare part. "Tony, if Hanson wasn't already dead, I would kill him myself."

Tony just smirked as he continued to methodically follow one wire through the various coils. "Patience, Officer David. Every wire has two ends. You'll get there eventually."

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"What _is_ all this junk?" Abby asked, when she saw the boxes of computer parts. "It looks like you raided Tim's apartment... _and_ an entire computer store."

"Next best, Abby. This is Mark Hanson's desk."

"What do you want _me_ to do with it?"

"Figure out what Hanson was doing, of course. His work computer is in the top box," Tony said pointing at a box helpfully labeled "Whole Computer."

"Thanks, Tony." Abby looked at the overflowing boxes and missed Tim more than ever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Here's your key, sir. Elevators are to your left. Welcome to the Crowne Plaza hotel."

"Thanks," Tim said. He picked up his bag and headed to his room. He was glad he had decided to dress up a little. This place was way too swanky for him. In normal circumstances he was a Holiday Inn kind of guy or maybe Best Western.

He stepped into his room. "Uh, wow." He looked around. This was a hotel?! He hardly dared take another step for fear of breaking something that cost more than everything he owned... including his car. He finally stepped far enough into the room to close the door behind him. "Wow. I'm in the wrong field." What in the world was he doing here?

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Abby started talking as soon as Gibbs walked in the door. "Hanson didn't keep much in the way of personal stuff on this computer, Gibbs. I can't find any hidden drives or partitions or anything."

"So you have nothing?" Gibbs started to leave.

Abby put her hands on her hips and said indignantly, "Did I say that, Gibbs? I do not recall saying I had nothing. See? Here are my lips moving, but the words that are coming out don't involve saying that I have nothing."

"Abby!"

She smiled and got to the point. "I got a picture and an ID. Hanson was looking for another job, it seems... on company time."

Abby pulled up an image of a woman in her 40s. "Meet Aisha Raphals, co-owner of Sindhind Imports, Inc., a small import/export company running out of D.C."

"What did Hanson have on her?"

"He had the history of the company, her background, education, stock options, the whole shebang. Hanson was thorough. He had a couple of emails saved in his account that indicate he was going to be offered a six-figure starting salary to leave NCIS and run all their computer stuff. That's way more than he was getting here. It's way more than _I'm_ getting. I'm working for the wrong people."

"And then he goes missing and turns up dead."

"Hmmm... point taken." Abby contemplated. "Coincidence? I don't think so."

"Neither do I. Good work, Abby." Gibbs turned and started to leave.

Abby grabbed his arm. "Gibbs, when is Tim coming back? I need my geek. Who else is going to help me sort through all this junk?"

"He's not coming back, Abby."

"Why _not_? It's not his fault, Gibbs. Something must have happened. If I had been working those files instead of Tim, I would have had the same result."

"The Director made the decision, Abby. That's the end of it," Gibbs said and walked out without another word.

"But I need my geek!" Abby wailed piteously.

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When the sun rose the next morning, Tim was sitting on the bed, looking mournfully out the window. He had tossed and turned all night on the beautiful gazillion thread-count sheets. This place was amazing, but it wasn't home, and it didn't change the fact that he was currently unemployed. He smiled at the irony. He was unemployed and paying nearly a thousand dollars for a hotel room. He stretched and remembered that he'd seen a Starbucks when he arrived last night. Well, coffee would wake him up at least. Besides, he liked coffee shops. He decided to shower and go down.

"Oh, no," he groaned as he looked at his phone a few minutes later. It was dead. If Abby had tried to call him, she'd take it as a personal insult that he hadn't answered two days in a row. And his phone charger was not with his stuff. He looked at the phone by the bed. What the heck. It was worth a try.

He dialed the front desk. "Hi, um, I seem to have forgotten my cell phone charger. Would it be possible to rent one?"

Tim listened with amazement as the concierge arranged to have a charger sent up for his model and promised it would be there in ten minutes. He hung up and sat down to wait. Five minutes later, he had the charger and was looking with chagrin at the ten missed calls. Abby was going to kill him. Well, she'd be working now. ...like he wished he was. He would call her later. Right now, it was coffee time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"I don't know, Boss. It seems a little premature to be putting a tail on this Raphals woman. How do we even know this has anything to do with her? What if it's something totally separate? I mean, it's not like Hanson went out of his way to get along. He seems to have been a first class jerk." Tony pulled down the binoculars and looked over at Gibbs.

"She's involved," Gibbs replied shortly.

"Right, right. Your infallible gut," Tony muttered under his breath. He'd been up since five that morning because Gibbs had decided this import lady was worth investigating. Now, he was watching her sitting in a Starbucks and he didn't even have any coffee himself.

Gibbs slapped his head. "Quiet. Keep watching."

"She's been in there for almost an hour, just plucking away at that laptop. Doesn't she have to go to work?"

"Maybe she _is_ working, DiNozzo. Some people are actually devoted to their jobs."

"Gibbs, I'm hurt."

"You will be if you don't shut up."

"Right, Boss. Shutting up." Tony pulled the binoculars back up.

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Tim had been sitting in the Starbucks for over two hours, drinking coffee and staring into space. The baristas were giving him strange looks, but as he kept buying more coffee, they didn't say anything. He was feeling a little wired though and he wasn't getting anything done. The notepad in front of him was blank except for some little doodles he'd drawn. Most of them involved stick figures being torn limb from limb or being executed by firing squad. He looked down and seemed to realize what he was looking at for the first time. He quickly closed the pad. This had been a mistake. He'd check out and go back home and then... and then be miserable there, but without paying a thousand bucks for the opportunity.

Tim was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't even see the woman sitting behind him. As he stood up and started to turn around, he ran into her and knocked her hands hard against her laptop. Immediately, the program she'd been running closed down.

The woman stood and began shouting at him. "You klutz! Look what you just did! I just lost my whole morning's work because of you! Why don't you watch where you're going?"

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Tony was watching through the binoculars, bored out of his mind, when he suddenly straightened at the scene beginning to unfold. "Uh, Gibbs?"

"What, DiNozzo?"

"Uh, I, um..."

"Tony, you are starting to sound like McGee, and not in a good, intelligent way."

"Um, that's ironic because he just crashed into Aisha Raphals."

"What?!" Gibbs grabbed the binoculars, which unfortunately were still around Tony's neck, and refocused them on the coffeehouse. Tim was bright red and Raphals appeared to be ripping him a new one. "What in the world is McGee doing talking to our suspect?"

"I have no idea, Boss." Tony pulled on the strap. "Gibbs, could you, uh, let me take these off? I'm starting to choke."

Gibbs didn't answer, but he did pull the binocular strap over Tony's head and continued to watch Tim and Raphals.

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"I-I...I am _so_ sorry. I didn't see you there." The customers were staring, the baristas were grinning, and Tim knew his face was red. He couldn't stop stammering. This was so humiliating.

"Sorry? Sorry?! You ruin four hours of work, not to mention the months of prep time for this contract and all you can say is you're _sorry_?"

"I-I think I could maybe find your files again, i-if you'd let me look at your computer."

"Oh, really? I suppose you just _happen_ to be good at computers?" She was still angry and skeptical, but she wasn't shouting anymore.

"Y-yes. I'm-I'm pretty good. Please, I-I don't want you to get into trouble or anything because of me. I-I know it's my fault. I should have been looking behind me. I'm really, really sorry. Just let me see if I can undo the damage? Please?" Tim was pleading and he was not aware of it, but he also had the kicked-puppy expression on his face. He did it so well. Raphals' expression softened... from the hardness of granite to that of concrete.

"Fine. Try." She shoved him down onto her seat and leaned over his shoulder. Tim gulped nervously, but he'd already said he'd do it. He was committed. Once he started working, however, he calmed down. He started to look around her system.

"Your hardware is really out of date. You should get an upgrade... or five. Ah-ha! Here they are. You just sent them to an archive when I rammed into you. Here we go. Good as new... or, that is, I mean, they're not lost anymore." Tim looked up, afraid of seeing her still angry at him. He was surprised to see her with a speculative look on her face. He stood up quickly. "I'm really sorry, again. I'm not usually so clumsy. Well, actually, I am," he amended, "but I don't usually ruin people's lives when I trip." Tim was babbling. He knew it, but he seemed to have become afflicted with logorrhoea and he couldn't stop talking.

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"What is he doing?"

"I don't know, Boss. You have the binoculars."

Gibbs head-slapped Tony again and ignored his whine. "He appears to be using her computer."

"So McGee is working for her? That was fast. I thought he'd be in mourning for at least a week before he got a new job."

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"I'm Aisha Raphals," she said, holding out her hand, as she smoothly cut off his endless flow of words. "I work for a company called Sindhind Imports. Have you heard of it?"

Tim's mouth opened and closed a couple of times as his brain tried to catch up with the situation. "Uh, no. I haven't. Should I have?"

She smiled. "Probably not. You don't look like our regular clientele."

"Thanks?"

"And you are?"

"Tim. Timothy McGee."

"Where do you work, Tim?"

Tim flushed. "Nowhere at the moment."

"Really. A recent occurrence?"

"Yeah, you could say that." Suddenly suspicious, he asked, "Why are you asking?"

"We are in desperate need of a computer technician to revamp our network and bring us up to date. I'm trying to force my partners into the twenty-first century. Our last tech didn't work out."

"Are you offering me a job?"

"A possibility only. I'd have to see your resume and things like that, but the way you working on my old clunker there, that showed some real skills. Are you interested?"

"I-I don't know. I hadn't really thought of what I'd do. You should probably know now before you start thinking of hiring me that I was fired from my last job, for a computer glitch."

Raphals hesitated, but only for a second. "Did it happen often?"

"No. It was the first time, but my boss can, er could, be very sensitive about that kind of thing."

"Where did you work?"

"NCIS."

The flicker of expression moved across her face so quickly that Tim missed it. Gibbs, however, watching the tableau through the binoculars, saw it and wondered what was going on. He didn't dare interrupt because McGee was the worst actor he'd ever seen and there was no way he'd be able to keep up his end if Gibbs told him what was going on.

"And what's that?"

"Oh, um, Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I worked as a field agent, but my background and experience is mostly computer-related."

"Well, Mr. McGee, former NCIS agent, here's my card. Send me your resume. We'll see how things go."

"Thanks." Tim took the card, still amazed at the strange turn of events. As Raphals started packing up her laptop, he apologized again, "I'm really sorry..."

She put her hand on his shoulder to stop the flow. "Stop apologizing, Tim. It's a sign of weakness."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Now, you sound like my boss."

"I'll take that as a compliment. I hope to see you later, Tim."

"Okay." As she left, Tim looked down at the card again. A job? At an import company? Networks? He sighed. This was probably the best he could get for a while, if he could get it at all. She had paused when he told her that he'd been fired, but she'd still given him her card. She wouldn't have done that if she hadn't been sincere.

"I think you lucked out, sir."

Startled, Tim looked up at an amused barista. He grimaced and looked down again. "I think maybe you're right." He walked out of the store and wandered down the street.

"What now, Boss?" Tony asked as he watched Raphals leave the Starbucks.

"I'll tell Ziva to follow Raphals. Let's get our witness on the phone shall we?"

"Why don't we just get out of the car?" Tony asked, dumbly. "Sorry, sorry. I know. Don't mind me." He pulled out his phone and dialed Tim's number while Gibbs tersely told Ziva to begin surveillance.

Tim looked down as his phone rang. "DiNozzo" flashed on his ID. "No, not Tony. I can_not_ deal with Tony today." Tim ignored it and sat down on a bench staring at the card. He knew he should feel happy about the possibility, but he had just realized that if he got another job, that would mean he had accepted that he would never work for NCIS again.

Tony watched as Tim sat down without answering and said, "I can't believe that. He's not answering. He knows it's me and he's not answering."

"He knows you too well, DiNozzo."

"Ha-ha. Boss, I think I'd better use your phone since McGee's ignoring mine."

Gibbs tossed his cell to Tony who dialed Tim's number again.

Tim looked down irritably and then paled slightly as he saw the name. "Gibbs. Why is Gibbs calling me?" He looked at his phone as if it were going to attack him. He hadn't seen or heard from his boss since his dismissal and he really wanted to keep it that way. He could picture Gibbs' face when he found out about Tim's mistake. It made just about anything else look better. However... Tim looked up and down the block and sighed. The phone kept ringing. Finally, he answered, "Yes, Boss?"

"McGee, I'm hurt that you wouldn't answer the phone when I called, and you know, Gibbs isn't really your boss anymore."

At first, Tim was speechless. This was not what he had expected. A million questions flashed through his head, but the one that came out was "Tony, why do you have Gibbs' phone?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Tony was just starting to enjoy himself, but Gibbs quickly tired of the game and grabbed the phone.

"McGee, what in the world were you doing talking to our suspect?"

"S-suspect, Boss? What do you mean?"

"Two minutes ago you were talking to Aisha Raphals in the Starbucks down the street. Why?"

"H-how did you know?" Tim stood up and started looking around.

"Sit down, McGee. Stop acting like an idiot."

"Yes, Boss." Tim sat down but still looked bewildered.

"What were you and Raphals talking about?"

"She was offering me a job at her company."

"Doing what?"

"Upgrading their system? You said she was a suspect. For what?"

"Did you accept?"

"She gave me her card. I'm supposed to send her my resume, for whatever good _that_ will do me. Why, Boss? What's going on?"

"You're going to send her your resume, McGee."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you need a job."

"Boss?"

"What, McGee?" Gibbs smiled to himself. Tim would probably call him "Boss" if _both_ of them had been fired.

Tim paused. So far this entire conversation had made little sense to him.

"I'm really confused," he admitted.

"You screwed up, McGee. You got fired. You are currently unemployed. You need another job. Here is an opportunity. Are you going to let it pass you by?"

"Um, I guess not."

"Good. Now, stop looking like your life is over and get on it."

Tim instantly straightened. "Yes, Boss."

Gibbs hung up and watched, grinning, as Tim stood up again and looked around, but then started walking back to the hotel.

Tony said, "Was he _staying_ there? That place is way expensive."

"I guess he was. We have work to do, DiNozzo. Let's go."

"Right, Boss."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aisha Raphals walked down the block to her car. After she got in, she didn't start the motor, but pulled out her cell phone and made a call. "I need you to check on a name for me."

"Who?"

"Timothy McGee, formerly of NCIS."

The voice on the other end let out a long-suffering sigh. "Another NCIS tech? Why can't you get someone _without_ military ties?"

She smiled. "It's not my fault that the Navy seems to get the best. Besides, I didn't go looking for this one. He literally fell into my lap. He just got fired, supposedly. I need you to check the veracity of his story."

"How quickly are you going to kill this one?"

She chuckled. "It depends. He might be worth keeping. The other one was too full of himself."

"You're taking too many chances, bringing in outside help. They're not going to like it."

Her smile faded. "_They_ don't make the decisions. I do. We don't have anyone in this company who is half-qualified for the job. We don't seem to attract many tech-savvy people."

"Timothy McGee?" the man said in capitulation.

"Yes. I want to know everything about him _before_ he sends me his resume."

"What? You didn't just hire him outright?" he asked sarcastically.

"No, I didn't. I don't think he was lying, but we've been the target of investigations before, and I don't want to be taken by surprise. Get on it." She hung up before he could answer, then started her car and went to work. She didn't notice when Ziva, showing unusual care, started her own car and began to follow her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Tim walked into his apartment once more. He had agreed to do as Gibbs said and checked out of the hotel. Now, he just needed to update his resume. He sat down at his computer and started to work on it but was interrupted by his phone. He looked at the display. Abby. He answered quickly.

"Hi, Abby."

"Hi? That's all you have to say?"

"I'm sorry, Abbs. My phone died and I didn't notice. I had no idea that you called until this morning."

"This morning? That means that you've had hours to call me back."

"I didn't want to interrupt you at work." He couldn't keep the wistful tone out of his voice.

"McGee, why didn't you call me back before?"

"I was just..."

"You were wallowing, weren't you, McGee?"

Tim sighed. "Yeah, I was. Actually, I'm still kind of wallowing."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm the one who messed up, Abby. It's not your fault. Did you find the files?"

"No. It's really strange. It's like they were never there. Do you think someone hacked us?"

"If they did, I never had any sign of it. They left absolutely no traces." Tim paused. "Do you know the worst thing though?"

"Losing your job?"

"No. Worse than that: I was just about to tell the Director that I thought they were legitimate sources, that all the data indicated a real company. There's probably an arms smuggler in D. C. and we have no idea who it is."

"We'll figure it out, McGee. Don't worry. Meanwhile, just be grateful you're not here. I have boxes and boxes of computer parts to sort through, and no computer geek to help me." She didn't mention Hanson to Tim because, not only would it not have helped, she knew how much Tim had detested him. The last thing he needed was another reason to be miserable.

"Well, if you want to hire an outside consultant..." Tim trailed off suggestively. He was curious but knew better than to ask about a case when he was no longer part of the organization.

Abby laughed. "I'll keep it in mind. Good night, Tim."

"'Night, Abby." Tim hung up and looked at his resume again. He hadn't kept it up-to-date in the last couple of years. A big mistake as it turned out. Still, it didn't take long to add on his accomplishments. He took out the card from Sindhind Imports and found the address. He sent off his resume and then sat back already regretting the action. Oh, well. He probably wouldn't get the job anyway. It was a one-in-a-million chance that they'd hire someone who had just been fired.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well?" Aisha asked the man sitting across from her.

"His story checks out. He was fired two days ago. No official reason has been given, and I couldn't find any info on why. His record up until now has been exemplary with the exception of a murder investigation last year."

"Oh?"

"He may have killed an undercover cop."

"_May_ have?"

"The evidence was unclear as to whether it was McGee or the suspect the cop was confronting. However, McGee was cleared of any wrongdoing. His most successful cases have involved computer work, tracing Internet signals, hacking servers, stuff like that. He's certainly more than qualified to update our computer system. You don't need someone like him to do this, you know. He's _over_-qualified for the work."

"For setting up the networks, yes."

"This is risky. One murder might be okay. Two... People will start to get suspicious. There's no reason to think that he's not still in contact with his former coworkers."

"True, but for now, we'll just use him in the legitimate side. Don't get so worked up. I know what I'm doing."

"You knew what you were doing with Hanson as well and looked how he ended up."

"That was his fault, not mine. He's lucky I was feeling generous. Now, don't you something else to do?"

"I'm sure I can think of something."

"Good. Think about it somewhere else." The man turned and left the office. No sooner had he gone than an email arrived from her new computer technician. Aisha smiled as she perused the resume. He wasn't as good as Mark Hanson had been, but he was nowhere near as arrogant either. Arrogance got people killed... as Hanson had discovered to his detriment. She smiled in anticipation. Things were going according to plan. Hanson's betrayal had been unexpected. She hated things to be unexpected and it had taken a day or two to get things back on track. Now, with Tim's help, everything would be ready on time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Tim spent the rest of his day wandering... around his apartment, around his neighborhood, around the internet. It didn't matter where he was; he was still wandering. He didn't know how long it would take to find out that Sindhind Imports didn't need his services. He couldn't imagine that they would actually hire him. That evening, he sat down at his typewriter although with little hope that he'd get much written. He stared at the blank page that mocked his lack of creativity. Jazz wasn't helping him tonight. It just seemed to underscore his fruitless attempts to have any measure of productivity.

After an hour of staring at his typewriter, Tim turned off the jazz. Maybe he'd let himself get into a creative rut. New music might help. He pulled out a burned CD he'd never actually listened to. Abby had made it for him after the whole thing with Benedict, but it never seemed the right time to listen. Besides, he didn't really enjoy Abby's music all that much. He tolerated it, and it certainly fit Abby's personality, but it didn't fit his. Tim looked at it and shrugged. What did he have to lose really? He'd already lost his job and his dignity. Creativity was on an extended vacation. All he had left was this CD. He put it in and immediately turned it down as the raucous music blared out of his sound system. It was all wrong, but he smiled and turned it back up. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was in Abby's lab.

Tim put the CD on repeat and walked back to his typewriter, put in a fresh sheet of paper ...and stared blankly. _Right. Stream of consciousness. Just write whatever is in your head. _Tim closed his eyes and started typing. It started as single words: _unfair, why, computer, files, connections _etc. He filled pages with disconnected words. After he put in the tenth page, he moved up to short sentences: _What happened? Is it worth it? I don't know. I can't do it. Where did they go? How did it happen? What's the connection? _Again, he filled the page. Tim sighed and put in another sheet of paper. One more try. _It just wasn't fair. He had done nothing wrong and yet he was being punished for it. He hadn't made the decision. He had only worked to the best of his ability. They'll all pay. Every one. Punishment for their crimes..._

Tim was jerked out of his reverie by a sudden pounding on his door. The CD had looped again, and he had been typing for who knew how long. The pounding continued.

"Tony, you're going to break my door!" Tim shouted as he stood, stretching. There was no response. He walked quickly to the door, saying loudly, "I'm not kidding. Knock it..." he opened it and his words faded to a whisper when he saw who was standing there, "...off. Um... Boss."

Gibbs stood in the doorway. It was like Tim's worst nightmare. He was alone with a man who probably wanted to kill him... painfully... over a period of several days. He was frozen in place, blocking the entrance to his apartment and unable to say a word.

"Are you going to let me in, McGee? Or do I have to just stand out here?"

Goaded into action, Tim forced his limbs to move and he stepped aside to let Gibbs inside. "Come in... Boss."

Gibbs walked past him in silence. After he entered Tim closed the door wishing that he had the courage to run. He was just about to turn around when he felt the stinging slap on the back of his head. He'd been unconsciously expecting it since his dismissal.

"What in the world were you thinking, McGee?"

Tim swallowed and forced himself to meet Gibbs' eyes. "About what, Boss?"

Gibbs was right in his face, shouting over the music still blaring over the stereo. "You got yourself fired! And worse, you made me back down to Director Shephard. If you hadn't left the premises, I might have been able to do something, but you just gave in. You listened to her."

"She ordered me out of the building," he said quietly.

Gibbs ignored him. "Of all the things you could have chosen to ruin, why did you have to pick the one subject Jenny is irrational about?"

"I didn't pick it."

Again, Gibbs ignored his response. "Not only that, but instead of asking someone for help, you decided to completely cut yourself off from your coworkers..."

"Former coworkers," Tim interrupted.

Gibbs smacked him again. "Don't interrupt me. You decide that the work you've done over the last three years means absolutely nothing and have no regard for my decision."

"It wasn't like that, Boss."

"And despite all evidence to the contrary, you still are treating me like your boss. What is _wrong_ with you, McGee?"

Tim's shoulders slumped and he looked at his feet, which he only then realized were covered by slippers and not shoes. How embarrassing. He contemplated his feet for a few seconds, a welcome shift from Gibbs' anger. When he looked up again, he noticed that Gibbs had stomped over to his stereo and was deciding which button to push to turn off the music. Quickly, he walked over and did it himself.

"I'm sorry, Boss."

Gibbs whirled on him again and Tim flinched. "How many times do I have to tell you not to apologize, McGee?"

"I don't know."

Tim was sure he was imagining it, but for a moment it looked like Gibbs was about to laugh. Then, the moment passed and he looked murderous again.

"Sit down, McGee."

Surprised by the order, Tim sat down on the chair by his computer and tried to hide his slippered feet under the chair. Gibbs walked unerringly over to the typewriter, grabbed the other chair and set it down in front of Tim.

"Do you know Mark Hanson?"

Tim blinked. He was finding it difficult to follow Gibbs' train of thought. It was moving much too quickly.

"Are you talking about the self-described computer genius?" Tim heard the deprecating tone that had crept into his voice and he knew Gibbs had heard it as well.

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"As much as I want to."

"How much is that?"

"Too much, actually. He's smart and knows it. He likes to rub it in everybody's faces, particularly mine," Tim said, bitterly.

"Why is that?"

"Because I'm another computer geek at NCIS."

"What about Abby?"

"Abby? He'd never try it with her." Tim almost smiled at the image of Mark trying to put Abby down and wished that he had tried it just once. He'd be dead.

"Why not?"

"She wouldn't take it for one thing. For another, Mark would have considered her beneath his notice because she does other things. Computers aren't her main focus."

"How do you know him?"

"I met him at MIT in a class. It was a brief acquaintance, for which I was grateful. Then, when I was stationed at Norfolk, he had just started at NCIS and decided to look me up and see what I was doing." Tim grimaced at the memory.

"Not pleasant, I take it?"

"Have you ever met him, Boss?"

"Not exactly."

Tim tried to analyze that statement. It seemed to have a veiled meaning. He shrugged. "Be grateful for that. When he came into my office, his first words were, 'Still second best, I see.' He thought that was _so_ clever that he made it his email signature. Every time he started something new, he'd email me and tell me about how much better he was than I."

"Did you ever respond?"

"Not after the first few. What was the point? I'd never liked him in the first place. He was a jerk, and I was always amazed at how people could overlook that." He paused. "Boss, why are you asking me about Mark?" A terrible thought struck him. "Is he my replacement?" That would be much worse than just being fired.

Gibbs actually laughed outright. "No, McGee. He's not your replacement. When was the last time you heard from him?"

"Let me think." Tim turned around to his computer and brought up his email. "Oh, right. It was just about three weeks ago. I didn't read the email then."

"But you kept it?"

"I figured it would be rude to just delete it unread, but I wasn't in a good mood that day and I figured it wouldn't make me feel any better. I guess I never got around to reading it."

Gibbs shook his head incredulously. He'd never understand Tim. "Well, read it now."

"If you say so, Boss." Tim clicked on the message and scanned the contents. "It says that he was about to take the next step up in the world leaving me way behind. His new job was so good he'd be pulling in more money than I could ever dream of and doing things I could never do." In amazed annoyance, Tim read the last couple of sentences aloud: "You're no longer second best. I think you've dropped to about tenth or twelfth. Maybe even last."

Gibbs was beginning to understand why no one liked Hanson, and he was feeling less sorry for his demise.

"No details?"

Tim looked at the email again. "No. It's a good thing I didn't read this when I got it."

"Why is that?"

"Tony was razzing me that day and I'd probably have tried to punch him out."

Gibbs entertained an image of Tim losing control enough to sock Tony right in the face. It was a strange image.

"Boss?"

"What, McGee?"

"What's going on?"

"Did you get the job?"

"I don't know yet. I sent in my resume, but I haven't heard back. It's not very likely. It would be silly to hire someone who just got fired."

"Did you tell Aisha Raphals that?"

"Of course."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. Of course, Tim would be honest. He was about to respond when Tim's phone rang. Tim just stared at it.

"Well, are you going to answer it, McGee?"

"Um..."

"Answer the phone, McGee!"

"Yes, Boss."

"And don't mention that I'm here."

"Why?"

"Just answer the phone and stop asking questions."

"Yes, Boss." Tim answered the phone. "Timothy McGee speaking."

As Gibbs watched him, he paled and his eyes opened wide in astonishment.

"Yes, Ms. Raphals. I remember you... um... Aisha. You do? Are you sure?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes again. Obviously, she was offering him a job.

"Y-yes, I'm interested. Are you really sure? Okay. Yes, I remember. Yes, I still have your card. Monday?" He looked positively terrified, but Gibbs wasn't entirely certain why that was. He hadn't told Tim anything yet. "Okay, yes, Ms. Raphals, er, Aisha. Monday at nine. Yes. I-I'm looking forward to it. Bye."

Tim hung up the phone, feeling more than a little queasy. It was official. He had another job and was no longer working for NCIS. Gibbs wasn't his boss anymore. He felt truly awful about it, and Aisha scared him.

"Well?"

Tim jumped at Gibbs' question. In his misery, he'd forgotten he was even there.

"Well, what, Boss?"

"What did Ms. Raphals have to say?"

"I have a job," Tim said miserably, staring at his hands.

"McGee, why are you looking like you're at a funeral?"

Tim looked up and saw his former confusion mirrored in Gibbs' eyes.

"Because, Boss, don't you see? I have a job."

"Yes, McGee. Most people actually like being employed."

"Yes, but..."

"But what?"

"But it's not the job I want," Tim admitted, blushing furiously. "I had the job I wanted and I lost it. I guess I thought that..." he stopped and looked at Gibbs. He was just waiting. "...that I could still pretend I was working for NCIS as long as I didn't get another job. Now, I have a job."

"It's not the end of the world, McGee."

"I know it's not, Boss, but it's the end of... never mind."

"Why do you think I wanted you to send your resume to Sindhind Imports?"

The sudden shift of topic caught Tim by surprise yet again. "What?"

"Try using that oversized brain of yours for two seconds, McGee. Why would I want you to work for Aisha Raphals?"

Tim blinked. An infinitesimal hope began to burn in his chest. "You said she was a suspect, but you never said for what. You must have something on her, but nothing warranting an actual investigation. Only circumstantial evidence."

"And?"

Tim stood up and started pacing, his slippers forgotten. "It must be related to Mark Hanson. I can't imagine why else you'd be asking me questions about him. What did he do?"

"He died."

Tim stopped pacing and stared at Gibbs. "And you think Aisha Raphals has something to do with it?"

"Yes."

"And you want me to go undercover and find out?"

"No."

Tim sighed in frustration. "Then, what, Boss? I'm not following."

"You are not going to go undercover to find out what Aisha Raphals did or did not do. You are just going to be there: a witness. We need a witness. Mark Hanson was hired to work for Sindhind Imports, and less than a week after he started working for her, he went missing. Then, a few days later, he showed up dead." Gibbs handed the case file to Tim who hesitated before he opened it and started to flip through the various photos. He went ashen as he examined the corpse photos.

Tim swallowed hard. "Um... why do you think Aisha had something to do with this?"

"You've talked to her, McGee. What do you think? Is she capable of something like this?" Gibbs pointed to the photo of Hanson's disemboweled guts.

Tim swallowed again. He'd never been good with the more gory aspects of the job. "Yes."

"Why?"

The words slipped out before he could censor them. "She's like you only scarier. Er, I mean. She..."

"Spit it out, McGee," Gibbs said, a note of warning in his voice.

"I-I think she would kill someone without a second thought if she decided it was necessary, but I can also see her doing something like this...and... and I can see her enjoying it." He indicated the photos.

Gibbs just nodded. He looked at his watch. "Okay, McGee. You will report only to me and only after hours. I don't want anyone to know about what you're doing because it's all unofficial. I don't want you to actually do anything. Just work there and do what you need to to keep your job. I repeat: Don't _do_ anything. Got that, McGee?"

"Y-yes, Boss." Tim glanced down at the open file again. "I-I'm not sure I can act normally around her, knowing all this." He pointed at a photo of Hanson's body.

"After watching you stumbling over yourself today, I'm confident that your stammering will not seem out of character."

"Um, thanks, Boss."

"No problem, McGee. But if you mess up again, I'll kill you. By the way, nice slippers." With that, Gibbs stood up and left McGee staring at his slippers again. He hadn't been exactly comforting.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

On Monday morning, at about eight, Tim pulled up to Sindhind Imports. It was an innocuous building. _Could Mark have really died here?_ he wondered. Well, regardless, he had a job, no two jobs, to do. He squared his shoulders and walked to the door. To his immense embarrassment, it was locked. Of course, he was over an hour early, but he was used to being to get in whenever he wanted to. Having to stand out on the front stoop was quite a comedown from his previous position. He sighed and sat on the steps, aimlessly dangling his legs over the edge. Someone would show up eventually.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Aisha Raphals drove up, she was unsurprised to find Tim already there, swinging his legs like a child. Everything in his file had revealed an insecure near-genius, and his psyche profile had demonstrated that his personality was a good fit for what she wanted. She could stomp all over him if necessary, and his "highly-sensitive ego" would crumble. She almost laughed to herself at how easy this would be.

She got out and approached him. "Tim, I'm surprised to see you here so early," she lied easily.

He was already flustered. He started to stand up and got his leg caught in the railing, causing him to fall over. His face was bright red when he finally got to his feet.

"Um, good morning, Ms. Raphals–" he began.

"Aisha."

"Um, Aisha. I-I figured that I didn't want to risk being late on my first day."

"How long _have_ you been here, Tim?"

He looked at his watch, a very nice watch, she noticed and a very nice car. They must pay well at NCIS.

"Just about an hour."

She blinked. An over-achiever, more of an over-achiever than she had thought. Well, that could be either good or bad.

"Well, let's get you to work then. No reason for you to sit around twiddling your thumbs."

"No, ma'am." Tim followed her, only inches from stepping on her heels. She smiled to herself. He was like a puppy. As they entered the main office, she felt him slow down. She turned around.

"Surprised, Tim? I wasn't kidding when I said we were behind."

Tim looked around at the dinosaurs sitting on various desks. "Behind? These things should be laid to rest."

Aisha noticed something that she had suspected but only now confirmed. Tim's expertise was in computers, and he was completely confident and in his element when they were involved. It was people that seemed to throw him.

He walked around the office without hesitation, pushing keys and grimacing at whatever he saw. She watched in something akin to awe at the complete transformation from bumbling idiot to the genius described in his file. After a couple of minutes, he seemed to have come to a decision.

"There's nothing you can do with these. You'll have to scrap them all and start out new. They can't be networked. They don't have the capability to run any of the modern software, and they're liable to crash at any time."

"I knew most of that already. What are your recommendations?"

"How much are you willing to spend?" he countered.

"As much as it takes to get us into the modern era. That's your job for today. Make a list of what you'll need to do that. I'm ready to get whatever you recommend."

She saw the change coming on as he made eye contact and remembered to whom he was speaking. It was amazing to watch.

"Are you sure you trust me? I mean, you only met me once and I did just get fired."

"Tim, are you trying to get laid off on your first day?"

"N-no. Of course not. I-I just, that is, well..."

"Tim, learn to take a joke."

He finally smiled, a little sheepishly. "I've been trying to learn that for the last four years."

"No luck?"

"Not so far."

She smiled again. "Let me know what we need by the end of the day. I want a full write-up with specs, prices, brands, connections, everything. You up for that?"

He shrugged. "Of course."

"Good. On my desk by five."

"Yes, ma'am." He turned toward the computers.

"Tim?"

He turned back. "Yes, ma'am?"

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Aisha?"

"I-I'm sorry, ma–, er Aisha."

She laughed. "See you later, Tim."

"At five, A-Aisha."

"Good job." On that note, she walked to her office and could have sworn she heard a sigh of relief as her door closed. Throughout the day, she took the opportunity to watch Tim closely. He had been dressed in a suit, with a fairly hideous tie, but he apparently had no qualms about crawling around on the floor to look at the computer connections, mumbling apologies to the other employees, but generally ignoring them. All the while, he was taking copious notes and she noticed that, every so often, he'd simply be staring into space. She got involved with her own work around two and stopped checking up on him so regularly. Jon was watching him like a hawk on the security system, which was, of course, completely up to date. He'd be sure to tell her of any problems.

As it turned out, she wasn't in her office at five due to a surprise meeting of one of their "other" potential clients. When she got back at five thirty, she saw a manila folder with a sticky note that read _computers_ laying on her desk. When she flipped it open and perused the contents, she saw that Tim had not only given her the specs she had requested, he had also included the best places to buy the computers, a comparison of prices, pros and cons for each model, the best networking system for Sindhind's needs, and the best providers. She was duly impressed with his thoroughness. A good investment so far.

"Well?" Jon asked, coming through the door.

"Look at what he did, just today." She tossed the folder to him.

"Impressive. He's quite the busy beaver, isn't he."

"And you?"

"He was working, at least as far as I could tell, every time I looked at him. He seems desperate to remain in your good graces. I think you terrify him."

"I think you're right, although he doesn't seem comfortable around anyone here. He's different with computers. That's his element."

"At least someone here can claim that."

She smirked. "Exactly. We'll try him out for a couple of weeks and see how things go. If everything works according to plan, the system should be more than ready to handle the increased loads."

"I don't want another Mark Hanson on my hands."

"Neither do I. That's why we're taking it slowly."

Jon looked at the list. "Are you sure you want to spend this much money?"

"Yes. I wouldn't have started this if I didn't want to go through with it."

"He's not allowing for the other side of the operations. We'll need more memory and more secure connections than he has here. How are you going to justify that?"

"Expansion."

"That's it?"

"You've been watching him. Do you think he'll question me?"

He smiled maliciously. "Not if he knows what's good for him."

"Exactly." Aisha returned the mirthless grin and left.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Tim closed the door to his apartment and let out the sigh of relief he'd been holding in all day. He loosened his tie and pulled it off. It was his lucky tie. He'd worn it the during much of his first year on Gibbs' team. A small superstition that he hadn't had the heart to dislodge. Maybe it would be lucky enough to get him back to NCIS. He rolled his eyes. Yeah, right.

He thought of his new boss and shuddered. Aisha Raphals had made his skin crawl every time she'd looked at him. It was nerve-wracking to see her watching him with those cold eyes. Even when she smiled, she put him more in mind of a cold-blooded predator than a fellow human being. If Gibbs hadn't made him do this, he would never have taken the job. She was scary, and knowing that she was also probably a murderer didn't help matters.

He had just sat down at his computer when there was a knock at the door. He stood and approached it warily. Before he could open it, he heard the lock being picked. It was too late to turn his other locks. He just sighed in resignation and backed up a couple of steps. He was just in time because Tony flung the door open and it would have caught Tim in the face had he been any closer.

"Hi, Tony. Come on in," Tim said.

"What's going on with you, McGee?" Tony asked as he got a look at the three extra locks. "You worried about someone breaking in?"

"Only you, Tony."

"Ha. Very funny. I'm hurt, Probie."

"You know, Tony, since I don't work at NCIS anymore," Tim ignored the way his heart lurched at the words he'd spoken, "I'm really not a probie anymore."

Tony walked over to Tim, put his arm across Tim's shoulders and said facetiously, "You'll always be the probie to me, McGee."

Tim shook off Tony's arm. "Thanks."

"So, you get a job yet?"

"Yes."

"Doing what?"

Tim looked away. Gibbs hadn't said whether or not he could tell Tony and Ziva about his pseudo-undercover assignment. He had said not to tell anyone, but Tony had been there before. However, Tim wasn't even sure exactly what his status was. "Nothing you'd understand, Tony."

"Try me."

"I'd rather not talk about it," he said. It was true. He didn't want to talk about the scary lady who had probably killed Mark Hanson. Upon further reflection, _kill_ was sorely inadequate to describe what had been done to his erstwhile archenemy.

"Fast food, huh?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "No, Tony. Even _you_ would understand fast food."

"Ooh, you've cut me to the quick, Probie. Being fired certainly has improved your snark."

Tim walked over to his computer and turned off the printer. "Great. Something good came out of this whole thing then."

When he turned back, Tony was looking at him seriously. "What?"

"McGee, I don't understand how you could have screwed up so badly that _Gibbs_ hasn't been able to get you back on the team."

Tim tried to smile, but it was fake and they both knew it. "That's because it was computer-related. Computers aren't your thing, Tony."

Tony didn't laugh. "I mean it, McGee. You should throw yourself at the Director's feet, something, anything. Whatever it takes to get your job back."

"Sometimes, you just have to accept things and move on." Tim hesitated and then asked, "So, um, wh-who's my replacement?"

"There isn't one."

"What? You need someone else."

Tony shrugged. "We're managing right now. Gibbs hasn't said a word about anyone taking your spot."

"But, I-I know that Director Shephard was looking for my replacement."

"I guess Gibbs has vetoed whoever she chose."

"Oh." He fished around for something to say, but he found that seeing Tony just made him remember that he wasn't working for NCIS anymore. He was working for a sadistic murderer. "I have to get up early tomorrow. I need to get to bed." It was a blatant lie. He could sleep a whole extra hour if he wanted to.

Tony sensed that he was being dismissed. He shrugged. "Fine, Probie. I'm disappointed. I didn't think you'd take it lying down like this."

Stung, Tim replied, "I didn't, Tony. I got fired. I was kicked out of the building. You don't have a clue what happened or why I'm doing these things; so just butt out." He walked to the door and opened it.

Tony walked to the door, as he started down the steps, he stopped and turned back. "I'm just surprised that you're giving up. I've never seen you give up." He went down the stairs.

Tim stared after him for about two seconds and then all the humiliation and anger at the unfairness of the universe boiled up inside him and he shouted at Tony's back, "I didn't give up, DiNozzo! I made a mistake, and _I_ actually have to _pay_ for _my_ mistakes! Every minute of every day!" He slammed his door and turned all the locks. Then, he almost ran to his typewriter, pausing only to turn on Abby's CD... at full blast. He sat down and started typing furiously. It was supposed to be a chapter done from the killer's point of view. He'd been having trouble getting the tone right; he just wasn't a naturally-vindictive person. Now, however, with the admittedly-unjust anger he'd vented at Tony, he felt as though he could get into the killer's head, into the anger he'd ascribed to him. He started from some of the complete sentences he'd been typing before. After a while he managed to settle into the mind of his character and wrote some coherent lines.

_They'd all pay. Every last one of them. No one insulted him and got away with it. He could see them all standing out in the rain, laughing it up. They had dismissed him as a harmless crazy man. Harmless? He'd _show_ them harmless. He could see each one as they fought over the umbrella: Tommy, Lisa, Amy. McGregor was the only one missing from the bunch. He had to be there to see it. He took out his gun and attached the silencer. Patience, patience. Red hot rage rushed through his veins. He wouldn't wait! Let McGregor find their bloody bodies lying on the street, their lives slowly ebbing away and mingling with the rainwater as it flowed into the gutters._

_He took aim. Who would be first? Who would get the first shot? He moved the gun around, enjoying the power that it gave him to hold their lives in his hands, and they were completely unaware. Ha! They'd pay. Above all, McGregor would pay for taking away his life. A life for a life. An eye for an eye. Tommy loomed in the scope, then Lisa, then Amy. Suddenly, a fourth person came out of the building. It was Tibbs himself! The savior of the downtrodden. Where _was_ McGregor? Then, as if in answer to his demand, the doors opened again. McGregor! He aimed again. The shot rang out and one of the happy smiling people dropped to the pavement, spraying McGregor with blood. He laughed, an expression of sadistic glee marring his handsome face, but not reaching his cold, lifeless eyes. That was only the beginning. He pulled up the gun again and..._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The pounding startled him out of his angry typing. Tim looked around wildly. He had been lost in the manic rage of his killer. The pounding began again. The music still roared on his sound system. He stopped and turned it down before continuing to the door. He opened it carefully, without taking off the chain, just in case Tony was back.

"Abby!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Abby pressed her face against the crack in the door and laughed. "Standing on your stoop at the moment, McGee. Are you going to let me in?"

"Yes! Yes, of course. Just a minute." Tim closed the door so that he could undo the chain.

Abby shouted through the door. "I'm glad you're finally enjoying the CD I gave you! How is it working for you?"

Tim opened the door. "It's different from the jazz. Let's just leave it at that."

Abby waltzed in, looking around. "I haven't been here since Michael was stalking me. It looks exactly the same." She looked around some more. "Except for the dartboard. It keeps moving. Can't you pick a place?"

Relieved at the innocuous topic, Tim answered, "I keep thinking that a change in location will help my aim."

"Does it work?"

"Nope."

"Still no couch, I see."

"I don't need one." Even though it had no obvious innuendo, Tim found himself blushing. "And there's not really room for one. ...not with all the, uh, bookshelves."

"Right, Tim." Abby grinned with delight at his discomfiture. "Well, Timothy McGee, let's get down to the important matters. How's your book?"

"My book?" _That_ was important? He tried not to draw her attention to his typewriter. What he had written there was not something he wanted her to see. "Slow going right now. I've, I've lost my muse."

"Come on, Tim. I know you can write. Why do you need NCIS to do it? I know Tony and Ziva give you grief about it, but the plots are yours, as are most of the characters."

"I know. I'm just not feeling particularly inspired at the moment. It will pass."

"Were you writing before I came?"

_No, no!_ He screamed the words in his head, but he couldn't lie to Abby. "Yes, I was." As she started toward the typewriter, he moved in front of her. "But it's no good. I-It needs more work. I-I don't w-want you to read it... yet. Ever."

"Tim," Abby protested. "When have you ever needed to hide something from me?"

"Um, since now."

"Well, if you say so," Abby said and acted as if she would give in, but as soon as she saw Tim relax, she dodged around him adding, "you've gone crazy. I want to see it!"

Before Tim could stop her, she had pulled the paper out of the typewriter and skimmed through it. After a couple of minutes, she looked up at Tim. "I don't know if you should use my CD as inspiration, Tim. That's pretty intense stuff for you."

"It's only fiction," Tim said, a bit too vehemently.

"Fiction in which the four characters you based on your teammates are in danger of dying and having their," she looked down and read, "'their lives slowly ebbing away' while you watch. What's up?"

"Nothing, Abbs. I'm just trying to get into the killer's head. My publisher says my villain is too tame so far." That much was true, even if the rest was a lie.

"When are you coming back, Tim?" Abby finally asked, cutting to the chase as she replaced the page.

"I don't think I am, Abby." Where Tony had made him angry, Abby's question just made him sad.

"McGee, you can't just give in like that. You need a job!"

"I have one, Abby."

"What?! Just like that?!" She looked incredulous.

"Yeah, I'm working at a company setting up networks and maintaining their hardware. You know, computer stuff."

"Tim, you're worth a lot more than that."

He shook his head. "Abby, getting fired is not the best way to move up in the world. I have to start somewhere."

"But networking? That's, that's beneath you, Mr. MIT."

"I worked a lot of places while I was going to school, most of them were not computer-related. I've moved on." _Liar,_ he thought.

"No, you haven't, Tim. I can see it in your face, and I can tell by what you wrote here. You're miserable."

"No, I'm not."

"Really? Then, try smiling."

Tim smiled, but it was completely fake and he knew Abby could tell.

"Ha! You _are_ miserable, McGee."

"No, I'm not miserable. Yeah, it's a bit of a comedown, but I'm used to working my way up. Can't we talk about something else?"

"Sure, did you know that Mark Hanson is dead?"

"Yeah. Gibbs told me," Tim said without thinking. Then, he realized that he shouldn't have said anything about that.

"When did you see Gibbs?"

"He came over here to chew me out for getting fired a couple of days ago."

"Really? Why?"

"I guess he's really mad at me. He asked me about Mark."

"I'm sure that was a pleasant conversation," Abby said. She knew all about Tim's interactions with Hanson because he often had come down to her lab after reading the emails, either strangely angry or completely dejected. For just a moment she toyed with the idea that maybe Tim had killed Hanson. Then, she thought of Tim's reaction to dead bodies. He didn't throw up anymore, but he'd never be really comfortable and Mark's body had definitely revealed someone who had enjoyed the killing.

"Yeah. I had to read the last email Mark sent me."

"How was it?"

"About the same as usual, only Mark had decided I belonged in twelfth place instead of second place."

"Well, at least, he's dead now. You won't have to hear from him anymore."

"Abby!" Tim chided.

"What? Aren't you relieved?"

"No! I'm horrified. Mark was a jerk and an annoying know-it-all. He loved making my life miserable, but that's no reason for wishing him dead!"

"It's not? I seem to remember you expressing that very wish on occasion."

"You know what I mean, Abby. Saying that I wish he'd drop dead is a far cry from actually _wanting_ him dead."

"Whatever you say, Tim."

Tim's phone rang. He looked at it and saw that it was Aisha Raphals. He gulped. Abby couldn't know for whom he was working now. Gibbs had said that he couldn't tell anyone. He couldn't think of any polite way to get Abby out and answer the phone.

"Abby, you need to go."

"What?" Abby was completely surprised. "I was just joking around, Tim."

"I'm not mad. Please, Abbs. Just go. I'll... I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Tim was all but pushing her to the door.

Finally, she shrugged. "Okay, Tim. Bye." She looked a little hurt, but Tim couldn't wait and closed the door; then, he answered his phone.

"Hello, McGee speaking."

"Good evening, Tim. Were you in the shower?"

"Um, n-no. I wasn't. I was... well..." he trailed off. "Did you need something?"

"Yes. I wanted to thank you for how thorough you were in your assessment. It will be a big help."

"That's what you hired me for."

"Of course, but there are levels of competency and skill. I'm glad that you are on a high level."

"You're welcome?" Tim said, for lack of any other comment coming to mind.

Aisha laughed. "Tomorrow, I want you to back up our system; so that we don't lose anything from the transfer. I've put in orders for the equipment you suggested. You'll get all the specifications tomorrow."

"Great. I'll be there." Tim hung up and sighed with relief. Abby was going to kill him for kicking her out tonight. _I guess she'll have to wait in line. Everyone will be hating me if I live through this._


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The next morning saw Tim politely kicking people off their computers and slowly working his way through the company files. After lunch, he took a break from that to look through the equipment Aisha had ordered. What he saw confused him enough that he braved going to her office to talk to her.

"Ma'am? Er, I mean, Aisha?" he said timidly, sticking his head inside her office.

"What is it, Tim?"

"I just wanted to clarify some of the equipment you ordered."

She looked up from her computer, giving him her undivided and threatening attention. "Yes, what about it?"

"Well, judging by what I've seen in your files and the way you run this office, you're spending a whole lot more on connective capabilities and memory than you need. I just wanted to be sure that I hadn't given you the wrong specs yesterday."

"No, I understood. We're planning on doing some big expansions. I simply want to have the space available when it's needed."

"But with the rate at which the technology keeps improving, there's a good chance that what you have ordered will be out of date by the time you need it."

Her smile never left her face, but Tim saw her eyes harden just a little and it was all he could do to keep himself from backing away. Man, she scared him.

"You are not yet privy to the details of our expansion plan, Tim. I promise, we'll need the space sooner than you think."

"Y-yes, ma'am. Th-thanks for clarifying the issue."

"No problem, Tim. Keep up the good work."

Even though she didn't say it, Tim heard an explicit _or else_ attached to the sentence. He nodded nervously and went back to work at his own computer for awhile.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mark, you idiot," Tim whispered quietly a couple of hours later. He'd been doing his job as Gibbs had ordered him when he came upon a hidden file Hanson had left on the computer he'd used. It looked as though Mark had been trying to do something right for once in his life... or else he had devolved to the role of blackmailer. Tim saw that he'd been secretly compiling data about Sindhind Imports. He shook his head. Even when he was doing the right thing, his arrogance still took precedence over his common sense. And yet...

Tim found himself tempted to do something stupid himself. Gibbs had told him explicitly not to do anything beyond the job Aisha had hired him to do, but it would be so easy to set up a silent program to keep track of what was done on all the computers on the network. It wouldn't transmit. They'd probably notice that, but it would log all the keystrokes and file names, the conferencing, things like that. No one would notice it, and he could gather evidence without doing anything... not really. He'd only set it up and let it run. Once a week or maybe once a day he could save the information onto his flash drive and put it on his home computer. Then, when they took Aisha down, they'd have evidence.

It was worth the risk of having Gibbs wanting him dead as well as everyone else. Tim took one brief glance around the room. No one was paying him any attention, but he didn't dare linger anywhere. He had noticed the security cameras lining the office, and he was sure people would be watching him... at least, if Gibbs' theory about Mark's death was right. He leaned back and stretched, arching his back and enjoying the feeling of tensing and relaxing all his muscles. Then, he leaned forward and began to type once more. This time, creating a program that he could transfer to the computers along with all the other files, a program that would spy on his employers.

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"So?" she asked.

Jon shrugged. "He's so... polite. Did you see him stuttering when he asked people to move off their computers?"

"Better than that, I saw him stutter when he came into my office to ask about the extra orders I put in."

"I knew he'd notice."

"And _I_ knew he'd back down with one stare from me." Aisha made a show of inspecting her fingernails. "Which he did."

"So you think you have him thoroughly beaten down?"

"Absolutely. Right now, he may ask questions, but he'll roll over if I stare at him. So has he talked to anyone beyond asking them to vacate their terminals?"

"No. I saw him talking to a computer a couple of times."

Aisha raised her eyebrows.

"That's what he was doing. He's not wearing a wire. He's been scanned every time he comes into the building. I guess he just has a greater affinity to mechanical objects than to people."

"Right. He's kind of an odd duck."

"No kidding."

"Keep watching him. We'll need to keep him under surveillance until we're sure the deal is done."

"Is the meeting scheduled?"

Aisha sighed. "For about the fifth time. They keep changing the date. If it weren't for the fact that we need this deal to get inside, I'd tell them to forget it." She looked out the door. "Uh-oh, the puppy dog's on the move."

Jon stood quickly and turned just as Tim entered the office.

"Um, sorry, a-am I interrupting?" Tim stammered. "'Cause I can come back later."

Jon walked up to Tim and looked him up and down. He looked back at Aisha and sneered.

"No," he said condescendingly. "We're done."

"What can I do for you, Tim?"

Distracted by the obvious dismissal in Jon's glance, Tim watched him leave without answering.

"Tim?"

He turned back quickly. "Uh, sorry, I was just... I need to, uh, back up your computer still... Aisha."

She gave her cold smile. "Of course, Tim." She stood up from her desk. "Have at it. How long will it take you?"

"It depends on how big your hard drive is, how much memory you've used, what programs you run. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

"Then, go ahead." She showed no signs of leaving, but it took some time for that fact to register with Tim.

"Oh, right." He walked over to the desk and began to do the required backup. He was tense because while she remained in the office, Aisha made no attempt at conversation. She simply stared at Tim as he worked. He thought that he might as well start putting the idea that he used his flash drive all the time in their heads now. That way, maybe the cold-blooded killer standing in the room with him wouldn't be as suspicious... if she wasn't suspicious already. He pulled it out and plugged in.

"What are you doing, Tim?"

Even though he'd been expecting it, he jumped. "I-I'm saving your registry keys to my flash drive. It's always safer to have the original settings saved if you're going to play with them at all." He chanced looking up at her. Inside, he heaved a sigh of relief. She didn't know what that meant at all. It showed in her face. Even though he was usually bad at actually reading people, years of experience in explaining technology to the clueless had tipped him off on what their facial expressions meant. It was a matter of how much trust she had in him at this moment. In fact, this time, that was all he was doing, but later, that wouldn't be the case. "I always make a backup when I work on other people's computers," he added, feeling a trickle of sweat running down his spine as the silence lengthened.

"Okay. Keep going."

He nodded vigorously and continued his work.

"I don't mean to seem suspicious, Tim."

"N-No, it's okay. I'm new. You don't know me yet." _You don't know that I really _am_ untrustworthy. Please, please, never find out._

"Then you won't mind showing me what you've put on your flash drive?"

"No, of course not."

She leaned over him in a mirror of their positions in the coffee shop. He brought up his flash drive and showed her the registry key.

"Good. Are you almost done?"

"Just about." Tim finished as quickly as he could and then stood up quickly, almost forgetting his flash drive. "Done. All yours."

"Thank you, Tim."

"Y-you're welcome."

"I put a rush on the new equipment; it should be here in a couple of days. How do you feel about working on weekends?"

Tim shrugged. At the rate he was insulting and alienating his friends, he wouldn't have anything to do on the weekend anyway. "I don't mind."

"Good. I don't want much of a delay in the transition. Once they get here, I want you to work around the clock to get everything done."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Aisha."

"Sorry. Aisha."

"Why don't you call it a day, if you've finished?"

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise, Tim."

"Right."

"So you're done?"

"Y-yes. Yours was the last one."

"Then, get out of here. See you tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am."

She shook her head as he fled from her presence.

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Ziva sat in her car as she had been for the last few days, waiting for Aisha's emergence from the building. Therefore, she was surprised when she saw Tim coming out. Immediately, she pulled out her phone.

"Gibbs?"

"What, Ziva? You find something?"

"Yes. McGee just came out of Sindhind Imports."

"It's early. I hope he didn't get fired already."

"You _know_ that he is there?" As she spoke, Tim got into his car and drove away.

"Yes, he's working there."

"Is he undercover?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that he is working there. Any other questions?" Implicit in his words was an injunction against asking any other questions as well as mentioning this event to anyone else. She was always impressed with the way Gibbs could express things without actually using the words.

"None that I think you will answer."

"Good. Have a nice evening, Ziva."

"Thank you, Gibbs." Ziva disconnected and sat back again to watch the building until Aisha came out. She couldn't wait until her shift was over. This was incredibly boring. She thought, instead, about Tim. He had effectively cut himself off from everyone at NCIS... except for Gibbs, she supposed by the way he had spoken to her. Abby had come to work all depressed because Tim had kicked her out of his apartment and Tony had told her about how Tim had screamed at him. She wondered how he would react to her presence. Maybe she'd find out tonight. She smiled and went over various scenarios in her mind to pass the time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"How is it going, McGee?" Gibbs asked over the phone. He had called mere seconds after Tim had walked in the door.

Tim shrugged, although he knew Gibbs couldn't possibly see that. "Fine, I guess."

"What are you doing there?"

"Right now, she's having me set up an entirely new computer system. I've been backing up files, writing up reports..." _writing illegal computer programs_, he added silently.

"Anyone suspect you?"

"No more than they would any new employee, although Aisha has a man working for her that seems to be on 'security' detail. I'm pretty sure he must be watching me most of the day."

"Well, that's not the attitude of an import executive," Gibbs commented.

"I get the feeling that Aisha would be like this even if she were completely legitimate, although I'd be willing to bet, even without Mark's murder, that she's not."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because of the hardware she's ordered for me to set up. She's getting way more than she needs, way more than an import company could possibly need. I asked her about it, and she just said they were expanding."

"That's not a valid reason?"

"Within certain limits, it is, but she's get twice as much as she needs, and no one could reasonably expect to expand that much in such a short time." Tim was amazed at how much less afraid he was of Gibbs now that he'd seen what a boss like Aisha could do. However, now, he was about to tentatively make a suggestion, one that he'd already implemented, and one he knew that Gibbs would reject. "Um, Boss?"

"What, McGee? Or should I just say 'no' and move on?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, whenever you get that hesitation in your voice, I know that you're about to suggest something that you think I'll slap you upside the head for."

"Oh."

"Well?"

"I-I was just going to ask... are you sure that you don't want me to _do_ anything while I'm there?"

"What _have_ you done, McGee?" Gibbs asked, the threat in his voice rivaling Aisha's.

Tim opened his mouth to confess and heard words come out that he hadn't consciously planned on saying, "Just what you asked me to do, Boss. It's just that I could so easily set up... I don't know... _something_ to get evidence."

"_No_, McGee. Absolutely not. Just do your job and nothing else."

Tim nodded in resignation. Gibbs didn't trust him. He had screwed up and now Gibbs didn't trust him anymore. It never crossed his mind that Gibbs might be worried about what could happen to him if Aisha discovered his duplicity.

"Do you understand me, McGee?"

Tim remembered that he hadn't actually answered. "Yes, Boss. I understand." _You don't think I can handle it._

"Good." Gibbs hung up without ceremony.

"Right. I'll prove that I can still do my job. Nothing to it. It's already set up," Tim said aloud. It was his decision, and while he was a bit afraid that it was a bad decision, he had no intention of backing out. There was a semi-unconscious desire to prove, not just to Gibbs, but also to Mark, even posthumously, that he was fully capable of carrying out his plan. He wasn't being reckless, just... smart. That's right. Smart.

Tim ambled over to his typewriter and sat down, but after only a few moments, he stood up again. He wasn't used to having so much _time_. At NCIS, they were often working well past normal hours and he had to snatch spare minutes to write whenever he could, usually late at night. He found that it was foreign to him now to be able to work while it was light outside. It just didn't seem... _author_-like to work at a normal hour. What was he going to do with himself? He didn't even feel like he _had_ any friends anymore.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ziva breathed a sigh of relief as her replacement finally came on shift.

"Anything?" he asked, without hope.

"Not a thing. Have fun!"

"Right. Well, at least I'm getting paid for it," he said gloomily.

Ziva smiled and headed out. Watching Aisha Raphals was a boring job. She didn't go anywhere besides work. She didn't do anything except work. She was boring... and possibly a murderer. Go figure. She looked at her watch as she left her observation. What the heck? The worst Tim could do to her was shout and _that_ could be fun.

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Tim stood up for about the fifth time in as many hours in frustration. This was completely ridiculous. People were supposed to _enjoy_ having free time, but he couldn't _stand_ it. He needed to get out of his apartment and do... something. He put on his shoes, grabbed his wallet, rammed his keys into his pocket and wrenched the door open. He fell back a step with a shout as he nearly collided with Ziva who had just raised her hand to knock on the door.

"Ziva!"

"Hello, McGee. Going somewhere?"

Suddenly, all the nervous energy that had filled Tim for the last few hours faded away and he sagged a little.

"Yeah... somewhere," he said uncertainly. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Visiting," Ziva said brightly. She looked so pleased with herself that Tim wondered what was going on.

Tim wondered if his dismissal had made the entire world go mad. No one, beyond Tony once or twice and Abby, _ever _came to his apartment. He'd never had problems following what people were saying before. He'd had a job he loved. He didn't scream at people who were his friends. And, Ziva _never_ looked that friendly.

"Why?"

Ziva's face fell a little. "I was wondering if you would scream at me like you did Tony."

Tim flushed. "No."

"Too bad."

Tim's brow furrowed. Yes, the world was definitely going mad. "What?"

"I've never seen you lose your temper like that, McGee. It would have been... educational."

Tim was torn between laughing and rolling his eyes. What came out was a helpless sort of guffaw.

"Would you like to get a drink with me, McGee?"

"Are you serious?"

"I would not have asked if I weren't."

"Sure. What else do I have to do?" Tim stepped out the door and locked it behind him.

As he followed Ziva down the stairs, she asked, "Are you a... how do you put it... a happy drunk?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Because I think you will get drunk tonight."

Tim laughed again, this time in disbelief. "I don't get drunk, Ziva. That's irresponsible."

As they reached Ziva's car, she turned back to him, bringing her face inches from his own. "Yes, and look at where being responsible has led you, McGee. Why not be irresponsible and see where _it_ leads you?"

For a moment, Tim felt the anger that lay beneath his regret surge to the front, but he pushed it down, refusing to give Ziva the satisfaction of knowing that she'd angered him.

"Well, McGee?" It was a challenge. "I'll bet that you will get drunk before I do."

"Getting drunk isn't a sport, Ziva."

"I've seen men in bars. It may not be official, but it _is_ most definitely a sport. Are you coming?"

Tim looked back at his apartment. He didn't want to go back there. It was swiftly turning into a prison. He needed to get out. He shrugged and got in the passenger side.

"But I'm not going to get drunk, Ziva."

"Famous last words."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Hours later..._

"I think I'm drunk, Ziva," Tim slurred over the loud music in the bar. "I have to go to work tomorrow. I shouldn't be here."

Ziva, who didn't appeared at all fazed by whatever it was she was drinking, shouted back, "If you can worry about that, then you are _not_ yet drunk, McGee!"

She hadn't let Tim see what she was ordering him, and although she had denied it, she could see that he was hovering on the brink of sheer inebriation. She slid two more shots across the bar.

"Ziva, this is a very bad idea," Tim protested weakly. He was no longer steady enough to dance... although upon further _drunken_ reflection, that might not be such a bad thing. His moves were pathetic even when he was sober. Ziva had danced with him, but he knew that she was amazed at how bad he was. Now, with a number of unidentified drinks burning holes in his stomach-lining, his mind was swiftly filling with cotton fluff. Soon, he knew, he wouldn't be worrying about anything except where the nearest privy was. He found himself giggling as he downed another shot about the fact that he had used the word _privy_ in his head.

"What's so funny, McGee?"

"Privy! It's both a place to pee and an adjective. How funny is that?" Tim said, and burst out laughing. "I'm drunk, Ziva."

"Pretty close, I'd say."

"Not close," Tim said and tried to stand up. Why was the floor moving? He tottered, nearly kissed the bar and threw himself back onto his stool just in time. "I'm... there. Why aren't _you_ drunk?"

"I'm a better drinker than you are, McGee," Ziva said slyly.

Tim laughed again. "Right, you're a super ninja woman! Able to drink large... quanti... large glasses in a single... gulp! Super Ninja Woman!"

"What do you mean, McGee?" Ziva asked, interested in seeing Tim in such a different setting.

Wobbling, Tim stood, propped himself up against the bar, and began to discourse on Ziva, ticking points off on his fingers. Only Ziva was listening to his slurred speech. The bartender had long since learned to ignore Tim's incessant ramblings as he became more and more intoxicated. Some people had the consideration to get quieter... or at least less talkative the more they drank. Tim was _not_ one of those people. "You throw knives. You torture people, dress in weird sweaters without... comments, beat up prisoners, save the world, shoot guns, cook like a professional chef. You have..." he paused, appearing to lose his train of thought briefly. "You have mad ninja skills. On top of all that, you are drop-dead gorgeous and you aren't a sadistic cold-blooded killer!"

Ziva furrowed her brow at his list. There were some things that he had thrown in there she wasn't quite sure were complimentary. "Yes, McGee. You must be drunk."

"Yep," he agreed, sadly. He plopped back onto his stool and drank another shot, hardly even noticing it.

"You think I'm pretty?"

"Drop. Dead. Gorgeous, Ziva," he said firmly.

"I see." She slid another shot across the bar to him. He stared at it for a long moment.

"Oh, right!" he added, slurred speech clearing for a moment. "You also have mad ninja drinking skills!" He stood again and swayed dangerously before finding some semblance of balance.

Ziva chuckled. "You're a happy drunk, McGee. That's good to know."

To her surprise, Tim seemed to deflate at her comment. "I'm _not_ a happy drunk. I think..." he looked at the shot still waiting for him. "I think I need to drink more before I can be a happy... drunk." He sank back on the stool and threw back the drink.

"Why aren't you happy, McGee?" Ziva asked, her tone more like that of a teacher addressing a student than that of a "super ninja woman."

Tim stood again, seeming to feel that he needed to make a formal statement to answer each of her questions. He fell against Ziva and stared deeply into her eyes before levering himself back upright using her as a brace. "Let's see," he said, again ticking points off on his fingers. "I got fired. I lost my job."

"Those two are the same thing, McGee," Ziva interrupted.

"No, they're not, Ziva," Tim explained patiently, wobbling again. "Madame Director fired me, but I didn't lose my job until I got another one." Ziva suppressed a laugh at the title while Tim stopped and processed his sentence in his head. Then, he nodded firmly. "Yes. I got fired by Madame la Guillotine... a coup d'etat...or something like that." Tim paused, momentarily distracted in analyzing the French phrase. He shrugged and continued, "I lost my job. I got yelled at by Gibbs while wearing _slippers_. I'm working for the lizard lady. A guy I hate is dead and I have his job... stupid leftovers... I'm disobeying Gibbs... on purpose!" He stuck his finger up in the air to emphasize the point. Before Ziva could interrupt, he pressed on. "The only part of my book I can seem to write is the psychotic killer. I yelled at one friend and kicked the other one out of my apartment... because of my _stupid_ job. To top it all off, I'm drunk and spouting off to _you_ of all people because no one else will come near me! I'm a social _leper_!" He sniffed loudly and briefly looked as though he would burst into tears. "You wouldn't have come either if you hadn't been curious about... my... whatever...and you probably will be so put off by... all this... that you won't come back either. I have no friends. I only have the lizard lady and her minions," Tim finished and sank down onto the stool again. "Bartender!" he said overly loudly. "Can I have another of... whatever was in this glass?" He held up his last shot glass. The bartender looked over at Ziva. She shrugged and another glass came sliding across the bar. Tim drank it swiftly.

"Who is the lizard lady?"

"My boss. I'm not supposed to talk about her." He brought his finger to his lips and said, "Shhhhh. Why do you care anyway?" he added. Another shot appeared in front of him and he looked at morosely for a few seconds and then tossed it back as well. "Unclean! Unclean!" he yelled as he dropped the glass onto the bar.

"I am your friend, McGee."

"Really?" Tim seemed genuinely surprised. "When did _that_ happen? You look on me as comedic relief... when you're not looking at me with disgust."

"That's not true, McGee."

"Are you sure?" Tim asked, his face lighting up.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Can I have another drink?" Tim asked, appearing to forget what he'd just said.

"I think you're done, McGee."

"But I'm not a happy drunk, yet, Ziva!" Tim giggled, his good humor miraculously reappearing. "I have to get it in now because soon either the lizard lady... or Gibbs will kill me when they find out what I did. It's hard to be happy when you're dead! Maybe," a limp finger wavered in the air, "if I screw up badly enough, Abby and Tony will help, too! It could be a grouf epport! I'm sure they'd let you donate your mad... ninja skills to the murder!" he said gleefully. "They could publish my sequel, post... humously. Maybe then I'd be famous!"

"Are you not already famous, McGee?"

"Nope! No one in this room recognizes me." He waved his hand wildly toward the rest of the bar. "That's okay, though. I'm ignocanto... I mean, igcog... incognito." A serious expression crossed his face. He nodded slowly. "Yep, I'm done, Ziva. Once I start saying words wrong, I'm done." He stood up and wobbled. "Why did you want me drunk?"

"I told you. It was an experiment."

Tim appeared to reconnect with reality and said, "I'm gonna hate you tomorrow."

"Do you not hate me now?" Ziva asked, smiling.

"Should I?"

"I don't know, McGee. I'm having trouble following your thoughts."

"That's because..." he paused dramatically and leaned close to her. "...the world is going _mad_!" he finished at the top of his lungs. The bar quieted briefly and stared at the drunk agent. "Whoops. That was awkward." He giggled again. The noise quickly went back to normal levels. A drunk was too common a sight to attract attention for very long, and Tim wasn't especially exciting. Eloquent in a slurred sort of way, but not exciting. Hearing Tim giggle was a new experience for Ziva though. She had never seen him so... unrepressed. He was blurting things out. He was _giggling_ for heaven's sake. Then, he suddenly started to shout, "Ride! Ride! Ride that pony! Get up an' ride that big, fat pony!" He might have gone on, but as he tried to do the actions, he lost his balance and fell against Ziva, laughing hysterically, nearly kissing her. Probably, the only reason he didn't was because he couldn't stop laughing long enough to pucker his lips.

"I don't know about the world, but I think you may be," Ziva commented as she shoved him upright again and supported him out of the bar.

"Nope," Tim slurred. "It's not me. It's the whole wide world!" As they reached the open air, Tim pulled away from Ziva and spun in a circle, shouting, "It's a mad, mad, mad, mad, mad world!" He paused, fell against Ziva again and counted on his fingers. "Oh, wait a minute, there's only supposed to be four mads." He shrugged. "I suppose one more won't make much difference." He giggled again. "Have you ever seen that movie, Ziva?"

"No. Aren't movies Tony's area of expertise?"

"He's not the only one who watches movies." He flung his arms out and shouted again, "It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world!"

"Yes, it is, McGee." She pulled out her keys.

"No, no, no, Ziva," Tim protested. "You can't drive. I saw you drinking."

"Yes, McGee. I was drinking water."

"What?" Even in his inebriated state, Tim was shocked. "But..."

"I have to go back on shift soon, but I thought that you might need a break from thinking about everything. How was I to know that you merely become more thoughtful... and eloquent?"

Tim wanted to protest, to be angry at what she'd done, but he found that the situation was just funny; so he started to laugh. "You got me drunk because you thought it would be _good_ for me?"

"Yes." Ziva unlocked the car door. "In you go, McGee."

"'We had an accident! We fell into yellow!'" Tim quoted as he sagged against the car.

"What?"

Tim fell into the passenger seat, laughing his head off. Ziva shrugged and got in on the other side.

As she put the car into gear, Tim quoted another line, "'Do you think you ought to drink while you're flying?'"

"I'm not flying, McGee."

"I know. 'Well stop kidding will ya and make us some drinks! You just press the button back there marked "booze". It's the only way to fly!'"

"What are you talking about, McGee?"

Tim started laughing again, so hard that tears came to his eyes. "It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world, Ziva!"

"Yes, I'm beginning to agree."

Tim made an effort to focus on being rational. It was really hard. "Now, do you see why I don't get drunk? My mind wanders."

"Yes, I see, but it is quite entertaining... once you get used to it."

"Entertaining," he sighed. "Yeah, entertaining. I'm not good for anything else."

"Perhaps, not at the moment, McGee, but generally, you are very useful."

Tim sniffed again, dropping like a stone into the well of self-pity. "Useful. Not anymore... all I'm doing is sit... sitting around doing nothing... helping no one... because I made one little mistake. Just one! I didn't even get fired when I _killed_ an innocent man, Ziva. But I mess up, just once, and Madame fires me. It's not _my_ fault she's crazy! It's no fair."

"I liked happy drunk McGee better."

"Me too." Tim rubbed at his nose.

"Then, pull yourself out of your depression, McGee."

Tim nodded and giggled again. His mind was so clouded with alcohol that it was harder to focus on being sad. It was easier to just forget and move on to the next random thought floating through his brain. "Yep, yep, yep! Just like Ducky!"

"Have you seen Ducky drunk?"

"No!" Tim snorted loudly. "Not _that _Ducky."

"You know another Ducky?"

"Well, not _know_ exactly." Tim began waving both hands in the air. "Ducky is a dinosaur, a little cute baby dinosaur.

"Why would a baby dinosaur be drunk?"

"Ducky wasn't drunk. He was...easily cheered up. That show makes me cry. Poor Littlefoot. His mother died after fighting Sharp Tooth."

"Okay, McGee." Ziva suppressed a laugh. "I do think that Ducky being drunk would be more entertaining than a baby dinosaur."

"That _would_ be funny. Drunk Ducky. Drunk Ducky. Drunk Ducky. It sounds almost like a drunk... I mean, a drink. Like... a Shirley Temple."

"And what is that, McGee?"

"Sprite, cranberry juice and a mash-maraschino cherry."

"No alcohol?"

"That's why it's called a Shirley Temple. Can you imagine Shirley Temple drinking a martini or something? Maybe I'll make up a Drunk Ducky...for my book. Hello, I'd like a Drunk Ducky on the rocks, please." Tim chuckled again. Everything was funny to him now. "I'm going to have a hangover tomorrow, and I have to go to work."

"I'll leave something for you. It will cure your hangover."

"With your mad ninja skills!" Tim added, laughing yet again. "I'm going to be horribly embarrassed the next time I see you."

"You haven't done anything incredibly inappropriate. Silly perhaps, but not inappropriate."

"I'm gonna be like Tevye in _The Fiddler on the Roof_. Maybe I'll start dancing with Russians."

"I don't know that you should dance at all," Ziva muttered under her breath. "This is another movie?"

"A _musical_, Zee-vah Da-veed. It's about... Tevye... and a fiddler..."

"On a roof?"

"Oh! You _have_ seen it."

Ziva just laughed.

They lapsed into silence for awhile and Tim sank deeper into the seat. Then gradually, Ziva became aware of a strange sound coming from her passenger. At first, she thought maybe Tim was mumbling, but then, she realized that he was singing as the sounds became louder and resolved themselves into words.

"When you're following an angel, does it mean you have to throw your body off the building? ...Somewhere they're meetin' on a pinhead, calling you an angel, calling you the nicest things."

He paused for such a long time that Ziva figured he'd fallen asleep, but then he started up again.

"I heard they had a space program when they sing you can't hear; there's no air. Sometimes I think I kind of like that. And other times I think I'm already there."

Despite the odd nature of the lyrics, Ziva was surprised at the quality of Tim's voice. He really wasn't a bad singer, even drunk.

"What's that song?"

Tim's voice was becoming more slurred and his eyelids had begun to droop, but he answered, "'She's An Angel' by... They Might Be Giants."

"That is a group?"

"Yes, I highly recommend them."

"I'll look into it." She turned into the parking lot of Tim's apartment complex. "You're home."

"Great. Back to the prison."

"I thought you liked your apartment, McGee."

"Yep. It's great. I love it. I can't leave it. Where else would I go?"

"You _could_ go other places." Ziva got out of the car and helped Tim stand up again.

"I don't know if I'll make it."

"Yes, you will, McGee, because I have no intention of carrying you up the stairs."

"Oh, okay."

Tim swerved and wobbled all the way up the stairs, but made it up under his own steam.

"Keys. Keys. Keys. Keys," Tim sang as he pulled them out of his pocket and they wavered in the air.

Ziva smirked at Tim's attempts and took the keys from him. The door was open in moments.

"You have a nice voice, McGee," she commented as Tim fell into his apartment. She steadied him.

"Blue, blue, my world is blue. Blue is my world; now I'm without you," Tim sang to Ziva as he stumbled and flung his arms around her neck. "Black, black, the nights I've known, longing for you, so lost and alone."

"Lovely, McGee," Ziva said as she pushed him in the right direction.

"I missed my calling... I should have been... Pavarotti," he said, with a soft laugh. "Do you really like me, Ziva?" Tim asked as he wobbled toward his bedroom. He sagged against the doorframe and Ziva was forced to help him along the rest of the way.

"Of course, I do, McGee."

"Good." Tim collapsed onto his bed. "I like you, too." He grabbed her hand as she started to turn away and kissed it gently. "Drop. Dead. Gorgeous. Do you know why?"

Ziva blushed and pulled her hand away. "Why, McGee?"

"Because you just look at people at they drop. Dead... and you're gorgeous." He snorted and smiled sleepily.

"Before you pass out, McGee, why do you call your new boss the lizard lady?"

"Because she's cold-blooded... like those... what are they called... Komodo dragons. They kill people, too."

Before she could pry anymore, Tim's eyes closed and he was out, snoring loudly. Ziva removed his shoes, maneuvered him into a more normal position on the bed and then set his alarm clock so that he didn't miss work. On her way out, she checked his fridge and his cupboards and wrote him a note, giving him a list of ingredients to mix together for a hangover cure. He'd definitely have a hangover tomorrow. Tim really _was_ a happy drunk most of the time... and flattering in an odd way. Ziva laughed out loud as she left the apartment and went back to relieve the agent on stakeout. It had been a fun evening.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

By the time Friday rolled around, Tim was almost over his embarrassment from his inebriation. As he had recalled the details of his drunken ramblings, he knew that, at the very least, he had been a bit too verbose. He also had vague recollections of trying to dance and falling on Ziva. He had awakened the next morning to his alarm clock... and a drum beat throbbing in his head. This was why he never got drunk. He really hated the after effects, and whatever enjoyment he might have had the night before did not make up for the discomfort of a hangover, particularly since it usually took a lot of effort to even remember whatever it was he had enjoyed. Ziva had called him to remind him of her hangover cure, and even through his agony, he could hear her trying to suppress her laughter. Her cure had made him feel well enough to go to work, but he was definitely not in top form... not that it had mattered all that much. He had spent the day making sure everyone's computers kept running and occasionally conferencing with Aisha about how much security was needed on the new computers, how the networks would best be set up. In reality, he was marking time until the computers got there.

Now, it was Friday afternoon, and Tim was surrounded by boxes. He looked morosely at them and wondered how long it would take to get rid of the old computers and start up the new ones... and he wondered how fast Aisha would need him to do it.

"They're here, I see," Aisha commented.

Tim jumped at the sound of her voice and spun around to face her. "Y-yes. All of them."

Aisha laughed. "I see you're just getting an understanding of the magnitude of your task."

"Something like that."

"Well, are you still able to work tomorrow?"

"Yes. How quickly do you need this done?"

"How quickly can you do it?"

"That depends..." as she raised her eyebrow at him, he hurried on, "...on how long I work each day, how many problems crop up while I transfer all the files and programs, whether or not you want me to work on the weekend."

"Will there be problems?"

"Unless you are blessedly lucky. There are always a few glitches that pop up when shifting to newer technology: compatibility issues, corrupted files, things like that. Usually they're not a permanent problem, but they take time to address and with all these new computers and a new network, and new software, I'm anticipating quite a few glitches."

"If you worked Saturday _and_ Sunday, could you be finished by Monday?"

Tim groaned inwardly but didn't dare refuse. Besides, that would mean he wouldn't have so much scrutiny while he installed his spy program.

"Probably."

"I can't emphasize enough how quickly we need this running. I'll pay you overtime, of course, but I _need_ to have access to the new network as soon as possible."

Tim nodded in resignation. "Yes, ma'am. I can work through the weekend."

"Good. I'll make sure you have a key by the end of the day. Jon may be in and out throughout the weekend, but you'll probably be alone most of the time."

"Okay." That was a relief.

"No complaints about working by yourself?"

Tim shrugged at the question. "Why would I need anyone around?"

He was surprised when Aisha seemed satisfied by his non-answer.

"Good. Have a nice weekend, Tim."

"Thank you, Aisha."

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A few hours later, Tim stumbled into his apartment. He knew now, more than ever, why he hadn't wanted to go into tech support. All this tinkering meant so little in the long run. If he was honest, he'd admit that was part of the reason for his desire to disobey Gibbs. If all he did was sit around and do the work of a tech, then, that's all he was. He needed more than that. It was probably going to come back and bite him, but for now, he could live with that. Whether or not he would live with it later remained to be seen.

His thoughts were interrupted by his cell phone. He looked at the display and groaned. It was Tony. Tim looked at the name flashing and felt the blush creeping up his cheeks. He was horribly embarrassed by how he'd treated Tony, as much because it had been an accusation, a pronouncement of his own anger, as because of his rudeness. Tony hadn't even been teasing him all that much, but he had been too close to correct in his assessment. The phone kept ringing insistently at him.

"If I don't answer, I'm being rude and a coward. If I do answer, I'll be awkward and probably stupid. Which is worse?" he asked aloud. "I'll take rude and cowardly." He closed his phone and went to his fridge to make dinner.

An hour later, his phone rang again. Again, he looked at the display.

"Abby!" he said, happily. She hadn't called him since he had rudely thrown her out of his apartment. He answered quickly. "Hey, Abby!"

"Hey, Tim! How goes things?" she asked, no noticeable reservations in her voice. Tim grinned with relief.

"Oh, fine. Boring."

"I heard you had a wild night, recently," she said slyly.

Tim blushed again. "Really?"

"Yeah, Ziva told me that she got you drunk."

"Great."

"Is it true that you danced?" Abby asked, laughing openly.

"If I remember correctly, I _tried_ to dance," Tim answered, trying to stop the conversation there.

"Do you ever do anything else, even sober?"

"Ha ha. I'm not that bad."

"Not as bad as Elaine Benes, but..." Abby trailed off significantly.

"Stop it, Abby."

"She even said that you sang."

Vague memories of crooning such noteworthy tunes as "She's An Angel" flitted through Tim's mind and he grimaced. He hadn't even _listened_ to They Might Be Giants in years. Why had he picked _that_ particular group?

"Yes, yes I did."

"Did you kiss her?"

"Um..." Tim racked his brain. There were a couple of near misses, but he couldn't say for sure.

"You _did_?! McGee! And here I thought you were the consummate gentleman."

"I didn't _say_ that I did. Parts of the night are fuzzy. That's what being drunk is all about, Abby."

Abby cleared her throat significantly. "Why haven't you ever done that for me, Tim?"

"Generally, I don't enjoy being inebriated."

"You want to give an encore tomorrow?"

Tim sighed sadly. He would _not_ like to give an encore, but he _would_ like to hang out with Abby. Unfortunately...

"I can't, Abbs. I have to work _all_ weekend."

"Oh."

"Really, Abby. I can't. I wish I could, but my boss just gave me a new assignment, and I can't risk losing another job by saying no." Tim was nearly pleading with her. "You understand, right?"

"I guess so." Abby sounded more resigned than understanding. "I'd better get going."

"Oh," Tim's half-formed protest died unspoken on his lips. "I guess I'll see you when I see you?"

"Yeah. Bye, Tim."

"Bye, Abby." As he hung up the phone, Tim felt like he was saying a permanent good-bye. Twice, he had rejected Abby's company. He had insulted and ignored Tony. While he hadn't done anything _to_ Ziva, he still fizzed with embarrassment at the thought of actually being in her presence again. Who knew _what_ she'd told Tony. He couldn't ever show his face again. "Great. Computers are my only friends." Tim sank onto a chair and sighed. He had done all this to himself. He knew it, but he didn't know how to fix any of it. His entire self-image had become corrupted by his dismissal, although that fact was only known subconsciously. All he really realized was that his life was a mess by his usually well-ordered standards.

Finally, Tim stood and glumly went to bed. There was no point in doing anything else.

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When Tim woke up the next morning, he looked miserably out the window at the beautiful day and knew that this would probably be the last time he saw the sun for the next three days. He now had a key to Sindhind Imports and he'd be working... frantically... and all alone.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Well, Gibbs?" Abby asked, Monday morning. Ziva and Tony were at their desks and looked up in interest as she confronted Gibbs.

"Well, what, Abby?"

"I want McGee back," she stated firmly.

Gibbs looked up with a sarcastic grin on his face. "I think that's something you two have to work out between yourselves."

Abby stomped her foot angrily. "You know what I mean! We're _losing_ him, Gibbs!"

"What _do_ you mean?"

"He worked the _entire_ weekend. He told me he was, but I didn't believe him. I tried to call him a few times, but his phone was turned off. I went to his apartment at midnight! He wasn't there. Whatever his new job is, he's _doing_ it. He hates it, but he's doing it for some reason. I want him _back_!"

"I've told you before, Abby. There's nothing I can do."

"You're _Gibbs_!" Abby protested. "You can do anything!"

"Not this time, Abby," Gibbs said. "But there might be something _you_ can do."

"What?"

"Find out what happened to the files McGee lost. Find a way to explain that it wasn't his fault. Maybe I could convince Director Shephard to rehire him that way. Otherwise, you'll just have to accept that he's gone."

Now properly-focused, Abby spun around without another word and went to the elevator.

"Don't forget that you still have real work to do," Gibbs said behind her. "That has to take precedence."

Abby looked over her shoulder. "I'm Wonder Woman, Gibbs. I can do it all!" Then, she was gone.

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Tim was watching the team playing around in the rain and felt a lurch in his stomach, but instead of the expected feeling of regret, he felt a surge of anticipation and anger. Then, up came the gun and he stared through the sights. Amy was in the crosshairs. She morphed into Aisha Raphals who was pointing a gun directly at him.

"Yo, Tim. Wake up, man." The strange voice intruded on his dream, along with a high-pitched, incessant beeping noise. "Really, Tim. This is prob'ly the worst place for you to be sleeping."

"Name's Probie..." Tim mumbled, as the dream faded.

"Really. I could have sworn it was Tim," the voice said, sounding amused. Now, the sounds were accompanied by shaking and an increasing discomfort, as if his face was laying on something hard and unforgiving... and bumpy. Tim's eyes fluttered open and he was surprised to find that he was up close and personal with the space bar of a keyboard. The beeping sound continued.

"Wake up, Probie."

Instantly, Tim sat up... and then, shortly thereafter, regretted the quick movement as his back and neck both cracked painfully. He looked around and was face to face with Brian, the janitor.

"Wow, it worked!" he said. Brian was a mid-twenties college dropout, and he happened to be the only person at Sindhind Imports that didn't make Tim nervous. They had only really met over the weekend when Brian had observed that Tim was the only person more devoted to his job than Brian himself was. "You really do answer to Probie."

"Don't call me that," Tim muttered. The beeping finally stopped.

"That's what you said your name was."

"Well, I was asleep, Brian. What time is it?" Tim looked at the screen. It was full of gibberish... over three hundred pages of it according to the toolbar. He flushed, embarrassed at having fallen asleep in such a position.

"It's just after six. I got here about fifteen minutes ago."

"Oh great. I fell asleep."

"You've been here all night?"

Tim yawned. "I was trying to finish, and then I wanted to leave some instructions for Aisha. She said she had some files and programs that were confidential. I wonder how far into the message I got." He began to scroll back up to the top of the very long document. There were five lines of real text. After that he appeared to be jumping off into the realms of fantasy or insanity. After that, it was all repeated letters for three hundred pages. Brian leaned over Tim's shoulder to read.

"Two chances for death? Lead on, infinity? Keep your hands tight? Tim, you're losing it, I think."

"I don't remember writing that," Tim protested. "I remember writing this about the Windows Installer, but even the line after that is fuzzy in my memory."

"Maybe you should become a writer," Brian joked. "What time was it?"

Tim laughed weakly. "I think it was around two...maybe three."

"And you were in here before me on Sunday, too. You need a life, Tim. Why don't you get a girlfriend or something? Maybe a non-technical hobby?"

Tim shrugged. "I told you this was a readjustment for me. I'm just taking awhile to get into the swing of things."

"Your predecessor didn't have any trouble. He _gave_ more trouble than he got."

"What happened?"

"I guess Ms. Raphals fired him. All I know is that one day he was here, and the next, his desk was cleared out. Then, she hired you." Brian looked at Tim more closely. "Did you go home at _all_ this weekend?"

"I'm pretty sure I must have. Maybe not. The days are kind of blurred together."

"You should go home, Tim. I'm sure that's the same thing you were wearing on Saturday."

"Not yet. It's a business day. If I have to work today... and I probably will, then, I won't have time to do much more than go home and turn around to come back. I'm used to pulling all-nighters. I never thought I'd be doing it as a tech, but..." Tim shrugged and turned his attention to deleting all the gibberish from the file he'd started typing. _Besides, I need to start that tracking program._

"Well, you're an adult, Tim, but I can't see that these computers are worth the loss of an entire weekend."

Tim shrugged again as he looked around the office. "They're probably not, but Aisha thinks they are, and since she's the one handing out the paychecks, I'll do as she requests."

"Not to mention the fact that she scares you, huh?" Brian said, jokingly.

Tim flushed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Um, yeah, Tim. You're like a nerdy version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde when she comes around."

"Well, that's nice to know," Tim said and actually meant it. If his feelings were that obvious, there would be less suspicion about treachery on his part.

"Well, I have my own work to do. If I can keep this job for a few more months, I'll have enough saved up to try college again... for the third time."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "The third time? Have you ever thought that maybe college isn't for you?"

Now it was Brian's turn to shrug. "I have to do _something_. Everyone goes to college."

"But not everyone _should_," Tim said earnestly. "There are so many more options today than college. What do you want to do with your life? Surely, you don't want to be a janitor."

"No, I don't, but I don't know what I want to do, either."

"Have you ever thought of a vo-tech school?"

Brian bristled. "Hey, man, I'm not stupid!"

"Whoa! I never said you were."

"Vo-tech's for dumb people."

"No, it's not. It's for people who don't want to go to college."

"Yeah, because they're stupid."

"_No_," Tim disagreed quickly. He really didn't want to alienate the only friendly person in the building. "It's for people who want to learn how to do more hands-on jobs, like carpentry or mechanics, plumbing, things like that. You said you liked to work with your hands. It's a way to get certified."

"Yeah, but..." Brian trailed off, obviously uncomfortable. He looked down at his watch. "I have work to do. See ya around, Tim." He left quickly.

"Yeah, see ya around." Tim sighed. _Great. The only nice person here and I managed to insult him._

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What's wrong with this one, Agent Gibbs?" The question was asked with resignation. This was the tenth agent Gibbs had rejected.

"You know exactly what's wrong with her, Director."

"We've been over and over this, Gibbs."

"You're right. So, there's no point in you trying to foist someone else off on me. My answer's still no."

"I could just order you to take her."

"You could, but then, you'd have to fill another spot as well, Director."

"Jethro, you're not making this easy."

"Good. That was my intention."

Jenny glared at Gibbs who pointedly maintained eye contact. Finally, she gave in.

"Fine. Keep your team shorthanded... for now. Don't think this is over."

"Oh, it's not. There's still a hole to fill. I'm just waiting for the right candidate." Gibbs stood up and left the office.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

By two o'clock Tim was about ready to collapse. As he had predicted, there were bugs and glitches to fix and he had been kept running around the office as each new problem arose. He was running on about six hours of sleep over the course of three days and his reserves were running low. He knew the situation was getting worse when he sat down at his computer and promptly dozed off for about five minutes. The only thing that was working correctly initially was the network. He had access to every computer via the password he had set up. It was the one thing he had wanted to be running perfectly. That way his program could be put to the test. He had chanced checking it out over his lunch hour, and it seemed to be running correctly. He'd wait to collect data until tomorrow. Today would be filled more with his own work.

"Tim! My screen just went blank!"

Tim sighed. He'd had his first name used more in the last week than in the previous four years. He thought it would be nice, but in truth, he was missing the calls of "McGee" and the derogatory "Probies," interspersed with the occasional "Timothy."

"Tim!"

Tim sighed again and dragged himself out of his chair. "Coming!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How's the schedule shaping up?" Jon asked.

Aisha barely glanced up from her computer screen. She was installing her own personal programs, following Tim's revised instructions. "As long as they don't try to reschedule _again_, we'll be ready by next week."

"Will this system? There have been a lot of problems today."

"Problems that Tim predicted. I'm not worried. He had to set up, hardwire, and install software on twelve different computers, not including this one and his own... and he did it _all_ over the weekend. I don't think he slept at all, and yet, he's still working. Mark wouldn't have done this."

"Please, don't bring him up again. I'm just about to the point that I don't think about his annoying face."

Aisha chuckled as she picked up her phone. "Tim?"

A tired voice answered. "Yes, Aisha?"

"I need your help in my office."

"I'll be right there."

Moments later, Tim stepped through the door. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked extremely worn out, but he didn't mention any of that.

"Ah, Tim, can the security system be connected to the network?"

Tim squinted tiredly. "Yes, providing they're digital."

"They are."

"Then, that shouldn't be a problem, but are you sure that's what you want to do?"

Aisha cocked her head to the side. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, if you keep the systems separate, then there's less chance of getting hacked."

"I thought this network was secure."

"It is, but nothing is completely secure. You need too many outside access points to be completely cut off. I don't know why anyone would _want_ to hack into your security cameras, but if you're worried at all about theft or anything like that, then I'd say leave them separate."

Aisha looked almost triumphantly at Jon who just shrugged. Tim was too tired to notice.

"Is there anything else?"

"Yes, my computer is refusing to install this program. Can you work your magic?"

"I'll try."

As Aisha stepped away from her desk, Tim maneuvered around her and clumsily plomped into the chair. First, he backed up her registry and noticed with a small measure of satisfaction that she didn't question him this time. Then, he clicked the mouse a few times, and typed a couple of commands.

"Done."

"Wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Tim stood. As he headed toward the door, he stopped and turned back. He didn't want to ask the question, but he knew he had to. "I haven't worked through all the glitches yet. Do you need me to stay late tonight?"

Aisha raised an eyebrow at his question. "Nothing is vital?"

"No, just minor annoyances that I can probably fix tomorrow."

"Then, no. As soon as the day is over, you can go."

"Thank you." The words were so full of relief that Aisha nearly laughed at him. He had made no mention of being tired, of how long he'd worked, no suggestion of leaving early. He just turned back around and left the room.

"He's all mine, now," Aisha said.

"He could just be acting."

"I don't think so. That tiredness was unfeigned. He worked his butt off this weekend."

"Maybe he's just trying to get into your confidence."

"Well, he won't. I just want to have his talents. I don't care about him."

Jon sneered. "As long as you remember that."

Aisha walked over to Jon and stood inches from his face. He was tall, but she was not short, and she had the advantage of wearing heels. Her gaze was glacial.

"You have crossed the line, Jon. Don't push me. No one tells me what I need to do. You work for _me_, got it?"

Generally, Jon was the only person comfortable in Aisha's presence, but on the occasions when she turned her anger on him, he genuinely feared for his life. He had always seen her anger as cold and calculating. Mark Hanson had been the first person to arouse the passionate fury that had driven her to mutilation. Jon knew that he never wanted to see that side of her again.

"Clear as a bell, Aisha," he said, keeping his voice even. It wouldn't do for her to know how much she unsettled him.

"Good." She whipped around and walked back to her desk.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Tim left Sindhind Imports, he wondered if he'd even be able to stay awake to drive his car. _Just what I need, a car accident_, he thought drearily. Luckily, he made good time home. Instead of making dinner or anything like that, he took off his shoes and jacket and fell onto his bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The ringing phone startled Tim out of his pensive pose, staring aimlessly out the window, a blank sheet of paper waiting to be corrupted with text. It had been that way for four hours, ever since Tim had come back from work. That same piece of paper had been in his typewriter for the last three weeks. Somehow, he couldn't bear to type more on his book. Ever since he'd written the possible death of one of his teammates, he had felt as though his brain was frozen. No stream of consciousness, no random sentences, nothing. He stared at the page and felt absolutely nothing. The phone was still ringing. He thought about not answering. He knew it was Gibbs. No one else called him anymore, not even Abby, not after the last time he'd had to refuse her company. If he hadn't been so sure that Aisha knew nothing about his relationship with Abby, he would have sworn that she was intentionally setting him tasks that required him to work at the exact times Abby wanted to hang out. Another ring. Should he even bother? He knew that he'd have the same things to say. Lately, every time Gibbs called, Tim was a breath away from just giving up and saying that he wouldn't do it anymore. It was the pitiful hope that Gibbs had encouraged, the thought that just maybe he'd get his job back, that kept him from doing that.

He sighed and answered. "McGee."

"Probie! Long time, no see!"

"Oh." Tim couldn't think of a single thing to say in response to Tony's exuberant greeting.

"What kind of a hello is that?"

"What do you want, Tony?" Tim asked, not really listening.

"That's not much of an improvement."

"I'm kind of busy right now, DiNozzo. Was there something you needed?" Tim went over the statement he had just made. _Busy? I'm so _not_ busy, it's not funny._

"Busy doing what, McGee?"

"What do you _want_?" Tim stood up and left the typewriter, choosing instead to examine the results he'd downloaded just that afternoon. There was _something_ going on, but until he had ironclad evidence, he didn't dare confess his disobedience. He only seemed to come alive when he was taking the dangerous step of downloading the data onto his flash drive, doing the one thing that made him feel like he was doing something useful.

"McGee!"

Tim jumped and realized that Tony had been saying something. "I'm sorry, Tony. I got distracted. What?"

Tony sighed audibly. "Never mind, Probie. I think I got my answer. I'll talk to you later." The trite phrase seemed to be more of a threat than a comfort.

"Okay. Bye." Tim hung up and continued to compile the company data he'd stolen.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You're right, Abbs. He's different," Tony agreed as he hung up the phone. Abby had forced him to meet her in the lab that night to talk about Tim.

"We need to stage an intervention, Tony."

Tony laughed. "Now, I'm not saying the Probie doesn't need help, but he's not at that stage."

Abby didn't laugh. "Oh, really? Have _you_ talked to him in the last month?"

Tony sobered. "No. I haven't."

"I've tried, but he's blown me off every time. I talked to Ziva, and I think she's seen him more than she'll admit, but she hasn't done much with him either."

"More than she'll admit?"

"She hedged a bit when I asked her when she saw him last, but she wouldn't admit to anything."

"You think...? No. That's silly."

"I know where you're going, Tony, and that _is_ silly."

"What is?" Ziva asked as she walked in.

"Ziva! So, you and McGee doin' the horizontal tango?"

Ziva furrowed her brow.

"Sex, Ziva. Sex."

She couldn't help it; the incredulous laugh escaped from her lips before she had time to think. "Me... and... McGee? Are you _joking_? Tony, you are crazy."

The reaction had been so genuine that the idea promptly left both their heads.

"We're thinking of staging an intervention, Ziva. Want to help?" Abby asked.

"An intervention? For whom?"

"Tim, of course!"

"He doesn't need an intervention, Abby. I only got him drunk once."

"Whoa, whoa! You got McGee drunk...and you didn't invite me along? When did this happen?"

"None of your business, Tony. McGee is fine, Abby. He doesn't _need_ an intervention."

"He's _not_ fine. He's lonely, and he's miserable, and he's sticking with this job for reasons I can't fathom. He needs someone to tell him so!"

"_What_ are you people still doing here?" Gibbs asked as he strode into the lab.

"Could ask you the same thing, Boss." Gibbs stared daggers at Tony. "...but I won't."

"Tim needs help, Gibbs!" Abby announced unashamedly, pointedly ignoring the wide-eyed innocent looks from Tony and Ziva. "I'm trying to drum up support for an intervention."

Privately, Gibbs agreed with Abby. Tim was turning into little more than an automaton, and Gibbs knew that it was the job he had. Tim hated everything about Sindhind Imports, and the only reason he was still there was because of Gibbs' manipulative line about getting his job back. In reality, he couldn't imagine Jenny backing down unless he could prove it wasn't Tim's fault, that it hadn't been incompetence that had caused the files to disappear. That was why he'd drafted Abby, equally manipulatively. So far, she'd come up empty, and the case had stalled over a week ago. There had been some sort of meeting about two weeks into Tim's tenure, but Aisha had not changed any aspect of her day. Jenny was ready to pull off the surveillance. Gibbs estimated that he had maybe two more days before the case would be declared cold and resources would be directed elsewhere. If that happened, he was sure any chance Tim had of coming back would be gone. He knew all this, but he knew one thing more: Tim wouldn't be able to hide what he was doing from his friends, if they all descended on him at once, because he seemed unable to lie, unable to hide anything important from them for long. The clues had been there for his book if they had cared to look for them, but they hadn't. This time, they did. Ziva knew just enough to be curious and slightly concerned, although she hadn't tried to bring it up, and Tony and Abby were both concerned about Tim's well-being. Tim wouldn't stand a chance.

"He doesn't need one, Abby. He's just busy."

"How do _you_ know, Gibbs? He won't talk to anyone."

"Because, Abby, he has a job. Right?" Gibbs said patiently.

"Right."

"It's a new job, right?"

"Right."

"He's McGee. He doesn't want to chance losing his job. He'll do whatever it takes to keep it."

Abby nodded glumly. That squared with the Tim she knew.

"So, let him do it. When he's ready, he'll snap out of it. Now, go home."

Gibbs watched as everyone shuffled out. Ziva had given him a long glance but said nothing. He was pretty sure that Tim was still actively avoiding her. After they were all gone, he pulled out his phone. He hadn't actually spoken to Tim for a couple of days. It might be time for another conference. He had almost finished dialing when he stopped. Maybe Tim couldn't have a genuine intervention, but he could have a visitor. Gibbs nodded and walked out of the bullpen.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"McGee!"

"Boss?" The voice was muffled and carried with it a tone of resignation. That wasn't exactly welcoming. What really amazed Gibbs was how steadfastly Tim had held to calling Gibbs by the title _Boss_. He wouldn't let it go, and, truth be told, Gibbs didn't really want him to. He would never admit it, but he missed having Tim on the team. They felt incomplete, not as much as when Kate had died, but still, the feeling was similar. Only this time, Gibbs had no intention of filling the hole with anyone but its original occupant.

"Who else?" he asked through the door.

A chain rattled against the door and it swung open. Tim was standing there in what were probably his pajamas. He looked moderately chagrined, but not nearly as much as he would have been a few weeks ago. Normally, Gibbs would have been happy with that, but not now. The reason for his change was apathy, not maturation.

"Who else, indeed," he said softly as he let Gibbs in.

As he stepped into the apartment, Gibbs gazed surreptitiously at the typewriter. The page was blank. The page in the typewriter had been blank every time he'd come by. That was worrying as well.

"How is it going, McGee?"

"No change, Boss. She hasn't said or done anything since that meeting."

"No, McGee. I meant with you."

Tim blinked in surprise. "Oh."

More than anything else he'd seen, that actually hurt Gibbs a little bit, the fact that Tim seemed to believe he didn't care about him beyond what he could reveal about Aisha Raphals.

"Well?"

Tim sat down on a chair. He looked around his apartment. "Well..." he repeated. "Well, this is about it."

"What is?"

He gestured around the room. "This." He nodded hopelessly. "This is what I'm doing when I'm not there."

"What about your book?"

A strange expression came over Tim's face. Gibbs couldn't even explain it.

"What about it?" Tim's question actually had an undercurrent of anger. What the anger was about, Gibbs had no idea.

"How is it coming?"

He shrugged. The emotion quashed quickly, whatever it had been. "Slowly. Or rather, I should say, it's not."

"For how long?"

"About three weeks. That's the same piece of paper. I'm sure my neighbor is relieved." A small smile flitted briefly across his face. "How is your side of the case going?"

"About as well as your book."

This time, the emotion that graced Tim's features was easily read, if a bit complex. It was a combination anger, frustration, and depression.

"We'll get a break, McGee."

Tim's gaze shifted away from Gibbs' face and down into his lap, although his head didn't move. A small snort of disbelieving laughter escaped his lips.

"What?"

Gibbs could see Tim trying to hold himself back, trying to reign in his anger because of his respect for... and fear of his boss. The anger won.

"No, we won't, Boss. Your case has stalled. I can tell. You haven't found anything new. Aisha's too good at whatever she does to be caught, and I can't do a single thing about it. All any of us are doing is marking time. The only problem is that we aren't getting _anywhere_! And it's because you won't..." Tim broke off suddenly.

"I won't what, McGee?" Gibbs asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Tim looked at him nervously, but seemed to steel himself for what he was about to say. "It doesn't matter, Boss. I'll just add you to the list." He laughed cynically. "Although, really, you're already on it, but you don't know it."

Gibbs was about to speak when Tim, uncharacteristically, interrupted him.

"I'm tired, Boss. Marking time drains you after awhile."

Gibbs couldn't decide whether he was infuriated at Tim or sorry for him. He just stared at his agent (Tim was still _his_ agent.) and wondered how this would all end because Tim was right. They _were_ marking time, and the longer it took, the less hope anyone could have of solving the case. Even Lt. Ferris had begun to let her guard down when there had been no attacks on their systems. Tim met his gaze, but seemed to actually be looking past him, not at him.

"Good night, McGee."

Tim blinked and for a moment, seemed almost to regret Gibbs' departure, but then he carefully blanked his face again.

"Good night, Boss."

"I'll let myself out," Gibbs said as he walked to the door.

"Okay." As Gibbs pulled the door open, he thought he heard a soft voice say, "I wish I could say the same." Gibbs hesitated and then closed the door behind him, leaving Tim alone again.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the door closed, Tim shuddered, and then silent tears slid down his cheeks. He was ashamed of how he'd acted, of how he _was_ acting at that moment, of how he'd pushed the only other person who still cared away. He couldn't believe that he had screwed up yet again. Well, he was paying the price for it. It wasn't that he had _no_ friends at all. It was more that his closest friends had always been the people with whom he spent the most time, in other words, his colleagues. As he had changed jobs over the years, the friends he'd had slipped away until the only lingering connections were the occasional greeting card. Tony, Ziva and Abby were swiftly heading in that direction...unless he could do something about it. But he couldn't talk to them when he felt so... incomplete, so marred. He sighed and wiped the tears away.

"I _won't_ wait for Gibbs to figure it out. I'm going to find the answer myself," he announced to his empty apartment, and instead of going to bed, he sat back down at his computer and began to compile all the data he'd gathered. It might take a couple of days, but he was going to determine _exactly_ what Aisha was up to and whether or not she had killed Mark. No matter what it took. He'd get the answers, prove that he was still good enough to work for Gibbs, and get his job back. _It's _my_ responsibility, not anyone else's. I was stupid to sit around and wait for everyone else to save me. I'll get to the bottom of Sindhind Imports if it kills me... even if Gibbs kills me for doing this. I don't _care_ anymore!_

Now, focused, driven, Tim worked late into the night, changing his program, and setting it up to become a little more active in its function. He swiftly moved from cautious to reckless. He knew it, but it didn't matter because if he stayed at Sindhind Imports any longer, he'd go crazy. It was worth the risk.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

An hour before quitting time, three days later, Tim looked in shock at his monitor.

"I'm in _big_ trouble," he whispered as he scanned over the information he'd just uncovered about Aisha and her company.

"What was that, Tim?"

Tim jumped and looked over his shoulder. "You're in early, today, Brian."

Brian shrugged. "I feel like sleeping in tomorrow. Ms. Raphals doesn't care _when_ I get my work done, so long as it's clean every morning. How's it going?"

Tim shrugged in response, carefully hiding his shock. Brian had just barely started talking to him again, and Tim had no desire to pull him into a dangerous position. "Fine, I suppose."

"Why are _you _here, Tim?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it doesn't take a genius, which I am not, to tell that you hate working here. I've heard some of the other guys talking about it. They've said that you seem really depressed when they see you working in here."

"I liked my other job better, I guess," Tim said, mentally cataloguing that sentence as the biggest understatement of the century.

"What did you do that was so great? I mean, you're a computer guy, aren't you?"

"I am now."

"What then?"

"You'd just laugh."

"So? That doesn't matter," Brian said, smiling evilly.

"I was an NCIS special agent." At Brian's blank stare, he added, "I was a criminal investigator for the Navy."

"But... you're a tech!"

"I know. Computers are my specialty, but I loved my job."

"How did you lose it?"

A half-smile quirked Tim's features. "I messed up... on a computer."

"That's ironic."

"I know. That's life."

"What, you mean, life sucks and then you die?"

"Well, not that dour, I hope."

"Could've fooled me. You really are an open book."

"So I've been told," Tim said, silently exulting. He'd _never_ been able to act at all before this. In truth, he _wasn't_ acting so much as using feelings he really had to hide his duplicity. He hesitated and then asked, "Have you thought about what I said before?"

"Yeah," Brian said.

"And?"

"And I've thought about it. I'd better get cleaning. Unlike _some_ people in this place, _I_ happen to have a social life."

Tim laughed shortly. "Well, sally forth, and clean yonder bathrooms, brave knight."

"Ha. Hilarious." Brian said, but he smiled as he left the room.

Tim, on the other hand, sobered instantly. He turned back to the computer. There it was. Staring him in the face. He knew he couldn't risk something happening to him and this being hidden. It was amazing how suddenly he felt in danger. It seemed like the last three weeks of apathy had never happened. He was nervous and afraid. A quick glance at his watch told him that he had a little time, enough for what he needed to do. He began to compile all the data into a single compressed file. This would make some noise. If anyone was watching for it, they'd see it. He didn't have time to cover his tracks. He just hoped that the month of work he'd done before would finally do its job in putting him above suspicion. Otherwise... he tried not to think about the file Mark had buried in the system, a file that contained just what kind of skills Aisha had in addition to running a business.

"Please, please, hurry," he whispered to his computer. The new computers were fast, but not that fast. He had to wait.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"We have a problem," two voices said nearly in unison.

Jon nearly recoiled at the fury on Aisha's face. She was as angry now as she had been about Mark. This was going to get very ugly, very quickly. He could tell.

"What." The single interrogative was turned into a lethal attack as Aisha spat the word out.

"Your computer geek is sending an email and talking on his cell phone."

"And?"

"The address is NCIS, and the phone call is from one of his former teammates, the Mossad woman."

"Yes, that tracks."

"What?"

"_Someone_ is..." Aisha was so angry that she had to stop and take a breath. How could this have happened _twice_?! Murderous didn't cover what she felt. "_Someone_ has downloaded data from the secure side of the system. One guess as to who might have the ability to do that."

Jon really wanted to say that he had warned her, that he had been right, that she had been blind, but that would be a suicidal action with Aisha in her current state.

"What do you want to do?"

A sick, twisted smile marred Aisha's face. "You don't want to know, Jon."

"I'll clarify. What do you want _me_ to do?"

"Get everyone out of the building, now, but quietly so that Tim doesn't know."

"What about our clients?"

"I don't care. If this gets out, we're finished anyway. Do as I say... _now!_"

"The security cameras?"

"Turn them off."

If there had been no other clues to what was in store, that would have told him. She wanted no record of the next few hours. After it was over, Jon knew he'd be the one to dispose of the body... discreetly, probably another abandoned warehouse. No, he amended quickly. That would be too obvious. The Potomac was a better bet. He nodded and left without comment.

Aisha took several deep breaths. Slowly, the fiery rage that had engulfed her ever since she'd discovered the betrayal cooled. She knew she was more dangerous when she was in control. Tim would need her full, _undivided_, attention. The rage was still there, but now it was cold. Tim would regret this. _How_ had he managed to fool her so completely? She opened a drawer of her desk and pulled out an access card. She was the only one who had access to that room. When she took someone into it, she always emerged alone.

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"I'm... I'm not hiding, Ziva. I'm just... busy." Tim didn't know why he wasn't telling Ziva about what he'd found. After all, he was getting ready to send an email to Abby with everything he knew. Maybe that was why. He couldn't show her the evidence, and he was afraid of losing it again. "I'm still at work."

"You do not work twenty-four hours a day, McGee. I have tried to call you before, at different hours, and you have not responded. Why?"

"Um..." Tim looked at the file he wanted so desperately to complete. His mind was really not on the conversation. He was so distracted by the two lines of thought that he didn't notice the slowly emptying office.

"If you're still embarrassed by your drunken ramblings, please don't be. Have I never told you about Tony getting drunk with me?"

"No."

"Tony is much worse, if less wordy."

"How could Tony be worse?" Tim asked, intrigued despite his distraction.

"Let us just say that if you thought he was... er, lecherous before, you have never seen him drunk."

"Did I kiss you, Ziva?" Tim asked, suddenly remembering Abby's question.

He could hear her smile as she answered. "Yes... on the hand. I am fairly certain you tried a few times, but that was the only success you had."

Tim blushed and didn't reply.

"Don't be embarrassed, McGee. I got you drunk on purpose. I was ready, and actually, I was pleasantly surprised."

"Why?"

"Your personality is not just an act. That is truly who you are, and you really _can_ be silly and fun. You should let yourself go more often."

"I hate getting drunk, Ziva."

"Not by drinking. Look at Abby. She is the opposite of drunk... all the time."

Tim laughed and then tried to suppress it.

"You know what I mean, McGee. You can be fun without being drunk. Think it over... and stop avoiding us. Abby is ready to stage an intervention in order to... save you from yourself."

"Really?" That was heartening in a way. Abby didn't completely hate his guts. She was worried about him. Speaking of Abby...

"Ziva, I have to go. I'll call you back later. There's something I _really_ need to finish, okay?"

"You are not just... blowing me up, McGee?"

Tim held back a laugh. "Off. Blowing you off... and no, I'm not. I just have something I need to do. Quickly."

"If you are lying to me, McGee..."

"Please don't threaten to kill me, Ziva. I already have a long list of people who want to."

"You mean, like Abby, Tony, Gibbs and the lizard lady?"

"H-how did you know about that?" Tim asked, and then sighed and answered his own question. "I told you, didn't I? When I was drunk, I told you about them."

"Yes, McGee. I have not told anyone, but I am sorry you feel that way. No one wishes you dead."

"Not yet, anyway."

"Not ever, McGee. You are not the kind of man who receives death threats."

Tim grimaced. How wrong she was. "I've got to go. I _promise_ I'll talk to you later. Tell Abby I don't need an intervention. I think things are looking up."

"You should tell her yourself. Good-bye, McGee."

"Bye, Ziva." Tim hung up and quickly finished his email to Abby. Then, he took a deep breath and a huge risk and pushed send. He watched the file enter cyberspace and then sat stiffly at his desk for about five minutes, continually checking his inbox to be sure that the message wasn't being bounced back. Nothing. He about breathed a sigh of relief when he felt someone behind him.

"You've been busy, Tim."

Tim closed his eyes as he realized what was no doubt about his immediate future. He was about to die.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

"I don't like being betrayed, Tim," Aisha said, pleasantly. It was strange how little rage she was overtly expressing. Tim stood facing her in her bright, sunlit office. Threats should be delivered in dark dungeons, not sunny corner offices. Aisha's eyes were daggers, but she was even smiling. Suddenly, Tim flashed back to his last meeting with Jenny when he had been fired. There was a frightening similarity in their reactions. In fact, there had been a moment in which Tim had been afraid that Jenny would actually kill him. Only this was ten times worse than that event because Aisha definitely _would_.

"_Hello, Agent McGee. Have you come to a conclusion on the data we received?"_

"_In a way..." Tim trailed off awkwardly. "Director..."_

"_Yes, Agent McGee?" Jenny smiled._

"_The files are gone." Tim was later proud of the fact that he hadn't stammered. He had acted as outwardly calm as Jenny did._

_Her smile froze and her eyes went hard. "What do you mean?"_

"_I was almost finished with my analysis and they disappeared. There's nothing left."_

"_You lost all the data on a suspected arms dealer operating out of D. C.?"_

"_Yes, Director."_

"_Very well." She stood and a murderous expression flashed across her face. She turned toward her window and was silent for a long time. Tim wondered if he should leave, but remained as silent as Jenny. "Very well," she repeated, breaking the tense silence. "You no longer work for NCIS."_

"_Ma'am?" Tim thought for sure he had misheard._

"_You are fired, McGee. You have ten minutes to clean out your desk and leave the building."_

_Tim still didn't move. All the blood drained from his face, but he couldn't say a word. She had dropped the Agent from his name so easily that anyone else might have missed it. Tim didn't._

"_You are wasting time, and I need to find your replacement." At Tim's uncomprehending look, she elaborated, "I have no use for an agent who demonstrates his _complete_ incompetence so dangerously. You may have single-handedly allowed another arms dealer to get away without capture. If you are not off the premises in ten minutes, you will be escorted out. Am I clear?"_

_Tim flushed. "Yes, ma'am," he said quietly. Finally, the feeling returned to his legs and he left the office._

"I asked you a question, Tim."

Tim came back to the present with a start. Aisha had drawn a gun and was pointing it at him. It seemed superfluous, like Ziva carrying all those extra knives. "Ma'am?"

"I asked if you are stupid, Tim."

"Yes, I'm beginning to think so," he admitted hopelessly.

Momentarily disarmed by his admission, Aisha let out a short humorless laugh. "You are so much less arrogant than Hanson. I almost regret the necessity of killing you."

"How much?"

"Not enough," she said with relish.

"I didn't think so."

"How much of it was an act, Tim? How much of your treachery was planned?"

"None of it, not at first. I really was fired, for the reasons I told you. You really do terrify me, and I've done my best to help your company. ... but yes, I have also been secretly spying on you."

"Well, you won't end up like Hanson... not quite. You won't last as long."

"Why are you telling me this? Do you think it's comforting?"

"No." Finally, Aisha gestured for Tim to preceed her out of the office.

"Couldn't you just fire me?"

"No." The smile was back in her voice, but Tim could feel the hatred streaming off her in waves. No, she wouldn't be letting him go that easily. Somehow, he didn't think even the gun would be her method of dismissal. She probably had something a lot more... unpleasant planned.

"I didn't think so," Tim said as he walked down the hallway. He was surprised at how calm he felt. Gibbs had showed him the photos of what had happened to Mark, but even though he knew he was on his way to the same fate, there was no panic, no real fear. Perhaps it was because he didn't see any way to get out of this hole he had dug for himself. Gibbs had told him to do nothing. He hadn't listened and now he was paying the price. Aisha was going to kill him. He knew it. He could see it in her eyes, her cold, emotionless eyes.

"Stop here." The command in her voice brooked no disobedience and Tim did not. He stopped in front of a door he'd never noticed before. It looked like a janitor's closet, but he thought he could confidently assume that this was where Aisha was going to kill him.

"What now?" he asked when there was no further instruction.

Aisha didn't answer. Suddenly, Tim felt his entire body go rigid with pain. He collapsed to the floor, unable to move or react, helpless as the electric charge ran through his body. From his supine position he could see that Aisha had ditched the gun in favor of a TASER, not that he needed to actually see what she had used. He still remembered the feeling from the last time a woman had shocked him. As before, he was conscious, but now, he was completely at Aisha's mercy. In a small corner of his mind, the thought popped up that saying he was at Aisha Raphals' mercy was an oxymoron. She did not understand the concept of mercy.

"Just lay back and let it happen, Tim," she said, her face flushed with a strange kind of fierce excitement. "There's nothing you can do to stop me now."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Oh, wow, hinky!" Abby said aloud. She'd been looking through the record of keystrokes on the computer Tim had been using when the infamous files had disappeared. There was some dead time, and every instant of dead time meant time for her to get her geek back. She picked up the phone. "Gibbs! I have something!"

"What, Abby?"

"You have to come and get it, and it's hinky!" She laughed as he grumbled and hung up. He'd come, and he'd be interested. This was just the game they always played. As she waited, she checked her email and was surprised to have an email with a large attachment from Tim. She shrugged and decided to read it.

_Abby,_

_I'm really sorry about everything that's been going on. I've been really stupid, not just with you, but with Tony and Ziva and everyone. I'm sorry, but I have something for you. I'm afraid you'll have to tell Gibbs about it and that he'll kill me because I have been deliberately disobeying a direct order. There's something going on here at Sindhind, and it's not just Mark Hanson getting killed. It's a whole lot more. Please, go through what I've sent you and see if I've come to the right conclusion. You have _everything_ I've found... just in case._

"Just in case of what?" Abby asked.

"What you do have, Abby?" Gibbs strode in.

Abby looked up and closed the email quickly. There were other, more important things to worry about at the moment. "I have proof that it wasn't Tim's fault that the files disappeared!"

Gibbs just stared.

"There was nothing else to do, Gibbs! It was on my own time!"

He sighed. "Go ahead."

"Thanks! Come here." She grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the computer. "See?"

Gibbs stared blankly at the screen. "What should I be seeing?"

"Look, there!" Gibbs squinted at the lines of code on the screen.

"What should I be seeing?" he asked again.

Abby sighed in mock frustration and leaned over to highlight one section. "See that? It says..."

"...second best," Gibbs finished. It took about five seconds for his brain to put all the pieces together. "Hanson?!"

"Yeah, Hanson. He hacked us."

"And he deleted the files?"

"Yeah, it looks that way. He erased them all and then left Tim a message."

"Are you sure it would be for McGee?"

"Who else would get that reference?"

"You obviously did."

"Yeah, but that's only because Tim told me about it. It looks to me like Hanson was tortured into doing that and left a message, hoping that Tim would find it and figure out what was going on."

"Or else, it was another dig."

"Considering the state of his corpse, I don't think he would have been feeling quite so superior, Gibbs."

"That's good work, Abby."

"So, can Tim come back now?"

"I don't know." Gibbs started to leave.

"Wait! Gibbs! There's something else!" Abby called after him, suddenly remembering the email.

He paused and turned around, ready to continue on his way if what she said was unimportant.

"Tim just sent me an email with a whole bunch of stuff he said he stole from Sindhind Imports. When did he start working there? Why would he? Why wouldn't he _tell_ me about his job? What's going on, Gibbs?"

"He _what_?"

"I haven't looked at any of it yet. What's going on, Gibbs?"

"Look at it now. What did he give you?"

Abby was surprised to see that Gibbs didn't look so much angry as worried. That frightened her more than any other reaction he could have made.

"Okay, okay." She turned to the computer and pulled up the email again. "Gibbs... this is... this is some of the same stuff Tim was looking at before. It's not arms dealing. It's..." she trailed off as she looked through the files Tim had sent. "This is espionage. This is stuff from Hanson's old department! That means..." She turned around, but Gibbs was gone. Abby sank onto her stool in shock. "Tim's working for the same person who killed Mark, the same person who has been stealing information from the military... and he was getting evidence..." she said to the empty air. Then, she pulled up another part of the attachment and what little color she'd ever had in her face drained away. "Oh, no. Not this," she whimpered.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Gibbs pulled out his cell as he ran to his car. Tim's phone rang and rang.

"Hello, you've reached Timothy McGee. I am unable to an–."

Gibbs disconnected in frustration. Tim wasn't answering, but his phone was on. He dialed another number.

"Yes, Gibbs?"

"Ziva, are you where I think you are?"

"That depends, Gibbs," Ziva answered, a little guiltily. Jenny had ended surveillance of Aisha Raphals the day before in spite of Ziva's protestations that there was more to do.

"Are you outside Sindhind Imports?" When Ziva didn't answer, Gibbs said, "I don't have time for this, Officer David!"

"Yes, Gibbs. I am."

"Is McGee's car in the parking lot?"

"Yes, of course, it is. However, no one else's is, except for Raphals' and her security manager's."

"Scout around the outside of the building and clear it. I'm on my way, but I think something has happened."

"What?"

"I don't know, and I pray I'm wrong. Just get going. Don't go inside until Tony or I get there."

"Okay, Gibbs. On my way." Ziva disconnected and Gibbs called Tony.

"Tony, get over to Sindhind Imports. Now." He didn't give him a chance to ask questions; he just hung up. Tim had done _exactly_ what he had specifically told him _not_ to do. His gut was telling him that Tim wasn't just avoiding his phone. He was in danger, and now they had evidence to back up just how much of a danger Aisha Raphals really was, both to Tim and to the country.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Do you know what I used to do, Tim?" Aisha asked pleasantly as she hooked some scary-looking equipment up to various parts of his body which was strapped to a table very similar to Ducky's autopsy table. It wasn't a comforting comparison.

"Yes."

"Really? I'm surprised."

"Mark made a file. I found it."

"You knew Mark?" Aisha looked at Tim with disgust. "Was this some sort of revenge of the geeks?"

Tim forced out a laugh, even though he rarely found anything less funny than the current situation. "No, I hated Mark. He was a complete jerk. I don't really care that he's dead, except as a fellow human being."

"Are you always this honest, Tim?"

"Well, I never seem to be able to lie convincingly. Telling the truth usually works." Tim tried not to wince as he saw Aisha pull out an assortment of sharp implements. The fact that they were gleaming with care only made them more frightening.

"This is my own personal kit. Some people are willing to use whatever is available, but I've always believed that if you're going to cause pain, you'd better do it right."

Tim stared at Aisha in absolute horror. He could see how angry she was, but there was a business-like approach to her movements that was more terrifying than her anger. She was angry; therefore, Tim must be punished.

"Okay, I'm just going to test the settings."

"S-Set–?" Tim's timid query was cut off as another surge of electricity ran through his body. He shrieked in agony.

"Yes, perhaps a little high for the beginning. Let me fix that," Aisha said and fiddled with the dials a little more. "You know, Tim, this would have been _so_ easily avoidable. All you had to do was stick to your job description."

"I _am_ doing my job," Tim panted.

"Oh, really? I don't recall putting snooping on the list of required tasks."

"I have a three-fold mission: prevent terrorism, protect secrets, and reduce crime," Tim recited. "_That's_ my job."

Aisha turned on the current again and watched as Tim writhed on the table and screamed. Then, she turned it off again and again adjusted the dial, saying, "I hate to tell you, Tim, but you were fired... by your own admission, no less."

"That... that doesn't matter. I'm still doing my job."

Aisha looked at him fully, hatred shooting from her eyes. "You people make me sick."

Tim pulled against his restraints and said, "The feeling's mutual." Then, he fell back, screaming, as she again turned on the electricity.

"Now, now, Tim. We mustn't devolve into insults. That won't get us anywhere. You didn't like that, did you."

Tim whimpered a little and then said, "No. I can't say that I did."

"Well, you can stop it. You just have to help me out."

"Oh, really?" Tim tried to sound sarcastic, but he failed miserably.

"Yes. You sent an email to NCIS. You stole data from my company."

"Oh, and you just want me to make all that go away, do you?"

"That's it."

"Right," Tim said. He couldn't figure her out. Why would she even offer when they both knew she had no intention of letting him go... or even of killing him quickly? "I'm having... too much fun."

"Not scared anymore, are you?"

"Actually...I'm terrified. It's just that I know I'm dead anyway. Might as well go out bravely." Tim shrugged.

Aisha sneered, showing an emotion besides anger for the first time. "Bravery. Loyalty. You're all the same, even Mark was like that in the end. You think that kind of thing actually _matters_." She finally finished whatever preparations she was making. "Well, Tim, if you aren't willing to compromise your precious _values_, then I'm ready to get started."

Tim clenched his fists and ground his teeth together, determined to endure all this as the price for his foolishness, beginning with his dismissal and ending with his defiance of Gibbs' orders.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ziva finished her survey of the building just as Gibbs pulled up, Tony arriving seconds later. "Gibbs, the security system appears to be down."

"Why does that make me nervous?"Gibbs asked rhetorically.

"What's up, Boss?" Tony asked as he got out of his car.

"Tim's inside. I think his cover is blown."

"Cover? What cover?" Tony asked. Then, his eyes went wide. "He really got a job there?"

"Yes."

"Gibbs, what if his cover's not blown? What if he's just not answering his phone because he's busy?"

"Then, I'll smack him upside the head and drag him back to NCIS, and he'll wish he only had being fired to worry about," Gibbs said, not a trace of a smile on his face.

"Alright, then, let's go," Tony said, drawing his gun.

The three agents headed inside Sindhind Imports. As they stepped in the door, the lights in the hallway flickered.

"Someone forgot to pay their electric bill?" Tony observed.

"I... don't think that's it, Tony."

"Why, do you know something that I don't?"

"Only that Sindhind Imports is as clean as they come. They pay their bills _early_ not late... and that makes me very nervous," Ziva answered, looking around the empty building. "Why is everyone gone? It is not even five yet."

"Now, you're making me nervous."

"Good, then we all feel the same way."

"Did you hear something?" Tony asked, holding up his hand for silence.

"I... am not sure."

They all stopped talking. A distant shriek echoed through the hall.

"Please, tell me that's not McGee."

"I wish I could, Tony," Gibbs said. He took off down the hallway. Ziva and Tony stood for a moment and then followed behind.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"There. Now, we're on the right level, I think." Aisha said.

Tim thought about trying to be witty, but at the moment, the only sound he felt he could reliably make was an incomprehensible gibber. Being silent was probably a better idea. Then, Aisha finally turned her attention from the electroshock to her assortment of knives.

"Do you know what I've discovered, Tim?" She looked at him, clearly expecting an answer.

"No."

She waited to see if he'd say more. When he remained silent, she continued, "Well, I've discovered that the human body is very resilient. Even if you _really_ want your existence to cease, it takes a lot more than a couple of knives or a little bit of electricity to make that happen. Pain is merely your body's way of trying to provoke a defensive response to a negative stimulus. I can cause a lot of pain without killing you."

"I don't doubt that," Tim said and then was embarrassed by the trembling in his voice. In fact, his entire body felt like it was trembling, even though he was lying limply on the table. He couldn't believe that he was getting a lecture on physiology while being tortured.

"For example..." Aisha picked up a long thin knife. It looked like a monstrous needle except that it had a sharpened hook on the end. It looked very sharp, very dangerous, and very painful. She lifted it above Tim and then drove it downward in one unhesitating stroke, ramming it into the fleshy part of Tim's thigh. She left it there and let him scream. When his wordless cries had faded to whimpers and gasps, she continued in the same clinical voice, "...you have a well-developed nociception system. The nerve endings in your thigh just transmitted the message to your brain that damage has occurred in the tissue of your leg. In fact, the message is still being transmitted, is it not?"

"Yes..." Tim gasped through his harsh agonized breaths.

"You know, I might be willing to cut my lecture short if you'd only be reasonable."

"...reasonable..."

"Yes, Tim. I am not unreasonable..."

A short, pain-filled laugh escaped Tim's lips.

The anger in Aisha's eyes flared and she rammed the knife further into his leg. He shrieked again.

"As I was saying, I am not unreasonable. If you help me out of this bind you've put me in, I could easily kill you more quickly. The pain is not a necessity, merely an added bonus for me."

Tim was ashamed to find that the offer was tempting, but no. He'd dug this pit. "...no... thank you...Lizard Lady." _Wow, that was stupid. What did I say _that_ for? Maybe I'm a closet masochist._

Aisha shrugged, although the anger in her eyes burned more brightly than it had before. Tim found himself wondering if any other emotion ever reached her eyes... or even she even _felt_ any other emotion besides anger. She turned back to her kit and drew out another knife, similiar in shape and size but serrated. "This will hurt more, you know."

"B-Bring... it on..." Tim panted and died a little inside at the words he'd just uttered. Being tough probably didn't normally involve antagonizing one's tormentor. Tim regretted not having any clue as to what tough guys were supposed to do in such a situation... if the movies were to be believed, probably break out, kill the bad guy and then go to dinner at some posh restaurant with a beautiful woman. Guys in the movies never seemed to have any lasting effects from torture. _Even if I get out of this by some miracle, I highly doubt I'll be celebrating at a nice restaurant._

Bring it on, she did. The knife descended as smoothly as the first one had, only this time, she twisted it as it penetrated. Tim closed his eyes just before it touched him and shrieked again. He was glad he hadn't decided to pretend that it didn't hurt. Screaming felt pretty good. Through his continued screaming, he thought he heard the door open on the torture chamber.

There was unintelligible shouting, a gun shot, more shouting, another shot. As much as he would have liked to, Tim couldn't make his mind engage enough to discern the words being shouted nor the identities of the shouters. He couldn't even make his head turn toward the door. He simply kept his eyes screwed shut and focused on willing away the pain... the reactions of his nociceptors. He tried to pretend that he wasn't still trembling with lingering pain from being electrocuted. Gradually, he became aware of someone releasing him from his bonds. Still, he didn't move. It wasn't worth the effort.

"Probie, are you alive?"

Those words were the most welcome words he'd ever heard... although truth be told any words spoken by someone other than Aisha would have been welcoming. Tim chanced squinting.

"Tony," he said tearfully. "I never... thought I'd be so... happy to see you." He couldn't speak very loudly and his words were continually interrupted by gasps from the pain, but Tim was surprised, and a little disappointed, at how lucid he felt.

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not, McGee, but I'll take it at least as evidence that you're alive."

Tim shivered. "Take it however you want to." A tear escaped from his eye. "Is there... any chance of... shutting down my nociceptors?"

"Your what?"

Tim closed his eyes again, trying to keep the tears from falling. He had survived Aisha; he had to prove that he was strong enough to take the aftermath.

"My..." he stopped trying to reign in the pain by breathing quickly. "...my nociceptors. They... communicate negative stimuli to my brain." He tried to smile, but it's hard to smile when one is on the verge of hyperventilating.

"You want it to stop hurting is that it, Probie?"

An hysterical laugh escaped Tim's lips. He managed to shape that noise into words; he wanted to conserve his breathing. "Yeah. That's it."

"Well, why didn't you just say so?"

"I... _did_."

"Don't worry, paramedics are on their way," Tony said although his own voice sounded a little worried.

"Aisha?"

"She's... out of the way; don't worry."

Tim knew he'd need more information later, but right now, he was content to take Tony at his word.

The pain seemed to increase and he tried to distract himself by blurting out, "Are... are you still on the list, Tony?"

"What list, McGee?" Tony sounded more than a little concerned.

"It's gotten... a little longer than I'd intended," Tim said, his smile more of a grimace. "I've never had one... before."

"Are you feeling okay... besides the obvious, I mean."

"My body is... on fire, Tony. My leg... is worse. I'm _not_ okay... not in _any_ sense of the word."

"Why not?"

"I just... got fired from my second job... in a month." Tim tried to laugh, but really the sound was more like a sob.

Tony chuckled indulgently. "Not a very funny joke, McGee. But I'm impressed that you're trying." Tim felt him shift away and was obviously addressing someone else. "Hey, Boss."

_Oh, no! Not Gibbs. He's number one on the list._

"The ambulance is about five minutes away. Will he last?"

"Yeah, I think so. I don't dare take those things out in case I do more damage."

"Has _he_ tried to do anything?" Gibbs asked in a low voice. It wasn't low enough. Tim could still hear him.

"No. It's weird. He's just laying there."

"It's self-defense... Tony," Tim said. "Moving doesn't help."

"Still awake, McGee?"

Talking wasn't helping either. Tim decided that he just wanted to fall into oblivion. "Yeah... Boss... Aisha was right about pain. I can't make myself pass out... as much... as I'd like to." He took a few deep breaths. "It's... my own fault anyway."

"Your fault that she stabbed you?" Tony said in amusement.

"Yes... I..." It was getting harder and harder to pretend that he wasn't in complete agony. Why did they insist on talking to him? If he could just concentrate, he was sure he could make the pain go away.

"What list, McGee?" Tony asked again.

Before Tim could answer, Gibbs asked, "How bad does it hurt, McGee?"

Tim almost opened his eyes, but he was afraid to actually look at his leg. That would mean confronting head on the fact that he was a human knife block... but he didn't want Gibbs to know how much it hurt either.

"It... could be worse... I guess..."

"How bad?"

Gibbs was relentless. It seemed like he wanted to torture Tim verbally before he killed him for disobeying his orders.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question, McGee!"

"Pretty... bad..." This really wasn't fair. Tim felt he shouldn't be interrogated when he'd been cooked and skewered.

"We heard you scream, McGee."

"Really?" _Well, so much for being macho._

"We might not have found you otherwise."

"Thank... goodness... for small... favors."

"McGee, why are your eyes still closed?"

"I'm not... in the mood to open... them... Boss."

"Open them anyway, McGee."

Tim really didn't want to. He didn't want to have to make eye contact with Gibbs, and he couldn't believe that any other view he might have in that room would be an improvement.

The slap made him open his eyes in surprise. Gibbs was right in his face. Against his will, he felt his eyeballs start to slide away from Gibbs and move relentlessly to the horror he knew was his leg.

"McGee!"

Eyeballs moved back and focused, albeit haphazardly, on Gibbs' face. He couldn't tell what Gibbs was thinking.

"You disobeyed a direct order."

"I... know."

"Why?"

"It's... my... _job_," Tim said through clenched teeth.

"To disobey orders?"

"No..." Tim felt his eyes cross and Gibbs split into two. It was strange how little control he had over his optical organs. He tried to make Gibbs merge back into the one person he was fairly certain was standing over him.

"Then, what?"

"To... catch... the bad... guys... or... girls... in this case."

"We were working on that, McGee. That's _not_ what I told you to do."

"I... know..."

"Then, why?"

Tim felt himself weakening. The tears would start soon if Gibbs kept making him talk. His eyes were already rebelling against his conscious control. He had no doubt that his tear ducts would do the same.

"_Why_, McGee?" Another soft tap cut the number of Gibbses in half momentarily.

"Because..." There they were. The hot tears he'd been holding back came pouring out. He felt as though he'd built a dam that had suddenly burst. "... because I... I couldn't... bear it... otherwise."

"Bear what?"

"Bear...everything. Being fired... alienating... everyone... working here... screwing everything up. I... wanted to show... that I could... do my job... right..."

"By putting yourself in the path of a murderer?"

"That... wasn't my intention." Gibbs split in two again. "Are you still... on the list, Boss?"

"_What_ list, Probie?" Tony burst out.

Tim automatically shifted his gaze over to Tony... or rather he would have if Tony hadn't been conveniently positioned behind the two knives currently making their homes in Tim's thigh. His face paled even more as the enormity of what had happened hit home. A massive shudder moved through his body.

"Um... Boss..." he said, swallowing convulsively. Gibbs seemed to get it right away and gently rolled Tim over the far side of the table so that when he vomited, nothing got on him... or the other two occupants of the room. He was fully sobbing when Gibbs eased him back onto the table. "...It... really hurts, Boss," he whimpered, all pretense at being stoic in the face of injury abandoned. "I'm... sorry."

"Sorry for what, McGee?"

"For... being like... this," he managed to gasp out. "I tried to... do it right... to figure it... out myself... to make up for what I... did wrong." The tears choked his already scanty breath for a few seconds. "I just... wanted my job back."

At that moment, the EMTs arrived. They began to assess Tim's condition and were discussing what to do about the knives when Tim unexpectedly interjected.

"One... is serrated. The other... is... hooked on the end. I hope... that helps." His eyes closed again.

The EMTs shared worried glances and then decided to leave the knives where they were and have them removed at the hospital.

"McGee!" Tony shouted as they were loading him onto the ambulance. "What list?"

Tim dragged his eyes open fully for the first time. "My...list of... people who want to... kill me."

Then, the ambulance was gone, leaving Tony and Gibbs staring at each other in confusion.

"We're on a list of people who want McGee dead?"

"He's had the list for a few weeks," Ziva said as she came up behind the two men. "He told me about it before. Raphals was on the list and so were you, Gibbs, although you didn't know that you should be. He added you and Abby after he was, he felt, inexcusably rude."

"How do _you_ know about it?"

Ziva shrugged and smiled. "I talked to him when he was in no position to hide it."

Gibbs only grunted and then said, "Process the scene. Call Ducky. We'll need to gather all the evidence." He looked at Ziva. "You got the security guy?"

"Yes. He is... shall we say, out of commission."

"Permanently?"

"No, unfortunately."

"Get to work. Bring him in when you finish."

"Where are you going, Boss?"

"I have some business with the director," he said grimly. Then, he left Tony and Ziva grinning at each other like idiots.

"I knew it wouldn't last!" Tony said. "Gibbs would never let Jenny have the last word!"

"It's about time. He should not have backed down in the first place."

"Should I tell Gibbs you said that?" Tony asked, smiling.

"Only if you wish me to tell him what you said women thought about his... what was the word you used... _tush_?... when we went to that bar a few months ago," Ziva said, returning his evil grin.

"Let's... let's just process the scene, shall we?" Tony said, hurriedly.

"Oh, yes, let's."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gibbs stormed past Cynthia who didn't even bother to try and stop him this time. She briefly considered mentioning that Abby was already inside, but she sighed and decided to just let him find out for himself. It's not like he ever listened to her anyway.

"...and that means that Tim didn't screw up and that he was doing his job right and so obviously, he shouldn't have been fired and he should get his job back and..."

Gibbs opened the door to find Abby in mid-rant about all the reasons why Tim should be rehired. He let her wind down and then cleared his throat.

"Gibbs! You're back! Is Tim alright? What happened?"

"Abby, here's the address of the hospital they took Tim to. Why don't you head over there?"

Abby paled considerably. "Is he alright? What happened?" she asked again.

"He'll survive. Go to the hospital, Abby."

"Yes, sir." Abby fled without a backward glance. Some things took precedence over lecturing the director of NCIS.

"What is it, Jethro?" Jenny asked, sounding weary.

"The same thing Abby wants."

"I thought this was made clear to you before, Jethro."

"Oh, you were clear... _wrong_, but clear."

"Jethro..."

Finally, the anger he'd been holding back for the last month snapped. "No, _you_ listen to _me_, _Director_. Abby has just told you, I'm sure, that Mark Hanson hacked into the system and erased the files, more than likely under duress. That means, first of all, that McGee was not at fault. He did not _lose_ those precious files. Second, the woman who killed Hanson was also the woman who has been running a company that is secretly engaged in military espionage... and has been for about twenty years. McGee found that out, single-handedly, and gave us the information. Third, you allowed your personal vendetta get in the way of your judgment regarding McGee. Even if he _had_ actually lost the data, that would not have given you license to actually fire him, particularly when you have no basis for assuming it was a trend. Fourth, and most importantly, Timothy McGee was willing to _die_ just to prove that he could do his job and do it well. He put his life on the line even though it was no longer a job he could claim as his own. He has proven that his loyalty extends far beyond getting a salary and I was stupid to let you fire him in the first place. _You_ would be even more stupid if you let someone with that much devotion to a cause get away simply because you didn't get the _revenge_ you wanted."

Jenny sat in silence, her expression never changing, not even a smidgen. "Are you finished, Agent Gibbs?"

"For now, Director."

"Good. I'm sure you have other places to be."

Gibbs nodded shortly and stormed out of the office, past Cynthia who jumped a little as her phone rang.

"Yes, Director?" she said.

"Cynthia, cancel my appointments for the rest of the day. No one gets in, understood?"

"Yes, Director."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Tim was awake, unfortunately. He had no idea how much time had passed between when he'd finally been able to pass out in the ambulance (one bad pothole had finally put him over the edge) and when he'd first regained consciousness in the quiet hospital room. He'd heard the doctor explaining to Abby that there was no permanent damage from either the knives or the electric shock, that Tim had been lucky Aisha had wanted to keep him alive. Tim felt that he might disagree with that. The pain was by no means as strong as it had been, but he still felt like every nerve ending in his body was queuing up to protest its recent treatment. In addition, there was a deep throbbing ache in his leg. The floaty feeling Tim had indicated the presence of some strong painkillers, and that made him dread the possibility of actually feeling the pain in its entirety again. Abby was now sitting quietly on a chair near the bed. Tim had thought a million times about opening his eyes and saying something, but the very idea of movement was exhausting. Instead, he'd just laid motionless, enjoying the feeling of _not_ being killed.

"Tim? Are you awake?" Abby's voice was so timid and so shaken that Tim felt guilty about leaving her in suspense. Of all the things that he could still get wrong, this was the one he really didn't want.

He slowly lifted his eyelids and decided that someone must have attached heavy weights to them while he unconscious. "Hey, Abby." _Hmmm, my voice is pretty soft. I'll have to work on that._

"Tim! Oh, good. I'm so glad you're alive!" Abby looked as though she wanted to fling her arms around him, but that she was resisting only with great effort. Tim was glad she was restraining herself.

"Me, too." His voice was about as slurred as it had been when Ziva got him drunk. "How's it goin'?"

She smiled. "Not bad. How about you?"

"Oh... you know, the usual: losing my job, people wanting to kill me, electrocution. Same old, same old." He managed to grin weakly. Then, he reached out his hand. Abby took it gently. "I'm sorry, Abby."

"Sorry? For what?"

"For what?" Tim was incredulous. "For throwing you out of my apartment. For avoiding you. For blowing you off."

"Tim, you're my _friend_. I won't pretend that didn't hurt, but what kind of a friend would I be if I let that be the end?"

"You... you're not mad?"

"Not anymore. I may store it up and use it against you if we fight again, but no, I'm not mad at you."

"Huh." Maybe the meds were clouding his thoughts, but she seemed to be sincere.

"You needn't sound so surprised," Abby said in amusement.

Tim shrugged and then regretted the action. "I guess I'm too used to doing everything wrong."

"But you didn't do _anything_ wrong, Tim. Didn't you realize that when you sent me that email? Mark hacked us and erased the files. It wasn't you."

Tim's eyes opened wide. It seemed he'd been on the verge of realizing that it had been Mark, but he'd never quite got there. Everything had happened too quickly. "Really?"

"Really. He left you a message, obviously hoping you'd find it. I guess you got fired too soon. He didn't count on Madame Director."

Tim flushed. "I didn't either."

Abby just smiled. "He did the right thing in the end... sort of. He _was_ trying to make it so that Sindhind Imports would be found out."

"I wish he'd succeeded," Tim mumbled. "...although on second thought that would have only made him worse."

Abby chuckled and started to answer when the door opened and Gibbs came in.

"Hey, Gibbs. Look who's rejoined the land of the living!"

"I see. I need to talk to him alone, and aren't visiting hours over anyway?" Gibbs said, apparently ignoring Tim completely.

Abby grinned. "You're not supposed to know that, Gibbs! I'd managed to avoid _every_ nurse on this floor."

"McGee will still be here tomorrow, Abs. Get out of here."

"Ah, Gibbs! I haven't seen him in ages!" Abby said petulantly.

"Then, you can wait one more day. Go." Gibbs didn't seem angry or annoyed, but he _was_ serious. Abby shrugged and leaned over Tim, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

"See you tomorrow, Tim."

"Bye, Abby." Then, he looked anxiously at Gibbs who was in the act of taking Abby's vacated chair. "What is it, Boss? Did Aisha...?" That was a terrible thought. He didn't even want to voice his concern.

"No, McGee. Aisha Raphals is dead. She refused to stand down when we identified ourselves and would not drop her weapons after a warning shot."

"Oh." Tim considered that. How did that make him feel? "That's good." He didn't have to worry about her anymore and that was a very good feeling.

Gibbs pierced Tim with his gaze. There was a strange expression on his face, one Tim couldn't figure out. First of all, he didn't look angry, which was unexpected in and of itself. Second, he looked so deadly serious that Tim began to wonder if he was dying or something.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly. You made a list of all the people you thought wanted you dead, and that list included a psychotic killer, your former boss, and your friends. Is that right?"

Tim thought about trying to just sprint out of the room, leaving IVs dangling and heart monitors flatlining; however, that line of thought was quickly ended when he merely tensed the muscles in his leg and felt a sharp stab of pain. He winced. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Yes, Boss."

"Why?"

"I thought I might as well."

"Why?"

"I..." Tim stopped and tried to think of how to phrase his thoughts. It wasn't as though he was actively seeking for people to kill him. It just had seemed to work that way, because of his stupidity. "I... thought that maybe... that, well, it was a good way of keeping track of all the ways I'd screwed up."

Gibbs was still staring at him with that strange look. "McGee, are you aware that the only person who had a valid reason to want you dead was Aisha Raphals?"

"That's not true, Boss. I've done..." Suddenly, Tim was feeling a little droopy. Must have had another dose of whatever lovely stuff was keeping his leg from taking over his whole concentration. "I've done some really stupid things over the last month. Nothing has worked out like I thought, like I hoped it would."

"Like what, McGee? What have you done that warrants death threats?"

Tim raised an eyebrow. "You mean, besides the one you gave me before I started working for Aisha?"

Gibbs' lips quirked in a smile for an instant and then it was gone. "Yes, besides that."

"I... Why do you want to know, Boss?"

Gibbs didn't answer; he just waited.

Tim found himself blurting it all out from when he'd first discovered that Mark had been doing something at Sindhind Imports to when he'd lost his temper at Tony to his repeated rejections of Abby, even his drunken ramblings to Ziva. All the while he was talking, he was wondering why in the world Gibbs had invited this confidence, and why he was actually _telling_ Gibbs everything. Perhaps it was too much time spent in silence, alone in his apartment, alone at Sindhind Imports. Whatever the reason, he was surprised that he wasn't feeling particularly embarrassed by it. Rather, he really _wanted_ Gibbs to understand how he had felt, what he'd been thinking, why everything had added up to his current status, lying injured in a hospital bed.

"...and then, when you came over last week and I yelled at you, too... I just..."

"What, McGee?" It was the first sentence Gibbs had uttered in about an hour.

"I realized that you didn't really trust me anymore. You didn't trust me to be able to _do_ my job. It seemed as though I'd be stuck at Sindhind Imports forever, doing nothing worthwhile because I no longer had the _ability_ to do what I really wanted to do. So, I changed the program I had written. I made it into one that would... search for information rather than just accumulate data. I knew it was risky, but I didn't care how it ended, just so that it _did_. It was the indefinite waiting game I was playing that was killing me." He chanced a furtive glance at Gibbs who was still just sitting and waiting. It was so odd, but he continued anyway. "Well, it ended, although I wish it had ended less painfully."

"What happened, exactly?"

"When I saw just what Aisha was doing, I knew that I couldn't just wait and see how long it would take for her to figure out what _I_ was doing. If she found out... her history... as... an interrogation specialist, made it fairly certain that I wouldn't come out of it any better than Mark had. Instead, I decided to send it all to Abby. That way, even if the worst happened, we wouldn't have the same problem as with the files _I_ lost... or thought I had lost. I had copies saved on my personal computer, on my flash drive and then, Abby got a copy as well. Aisha found out somehow about the email. I'm not sure how. I probably was too noticeable during my search of the server. She took me to that room." Tim shuddered in recollection. "And then shocked me. That's the _second_ time I've had that sensation. I hope I don't have to feel that ever again. Do you know what the worst part of the whole thing was?"

"What?"

"She was angry. I could see it in her eyes. She _really_ wanted to kill me, but she was so clinical about it. She used her anger to make herself more efficient. She was going to drag that out for a _long_ time. The first time she stabbed me, she gave me a lecture on how the human body feels pain. I don't think I'll ever forget it. It was a very effective object lesson." Tim laughed weakly. "Anyway, she tried to get me to do the same thing Mark had done, erase the files I'd sent, but I knew that it was my fault I was there; I had to accept the punishment." Tim was quiet for a long moment, thinking about how much worse this all could have ended. "I'm glad you guys found me."

"That's our job, McGee."

"I know." The unspoken words hung between them: _I wish it was still mine._

"McGee, did it ever occur to you that this very situation is the reason why I didn't want you to do anything at Sindhind Imports? That it wasn't that I didn't trust you but that I was more worried about you getting caught and killed just like Mark Hanson was than I was about getting Raphals?"

Tim looked at Gibbs as though he'd never seen him before. His mouth opened a few times.

"Obviously, it didn't. Now that I think of it, I shouldn't be surprised. The last thing you ever believe is that you haven't actually screwed up. But, one thing you need to hear, McGee, is that I'm sorry. I gave you the hope that kept you working there, the same hope that made you do something so stupid. I shouldn't have done that."

Tim was embarrassed. He felt the same way he had when Gibbs had apologized to him before, although that hadn't been an actual "I'm sorry". He could still remember exactly what Gibbs had said to him, which was interesting considering the fact that, at the time, everything had felt fuzzy and strange, his mind going in loop-de-loops as he tried and tried to remember exactly what had happened in that alleyway... but without actually remembering it. Gibbs had said "I let you down." Just like that last time, Tim felt as though their lines should be switched. Now, he was actually apologizing. Gibbs, who berated Tim over and over for apologizing, was apologizing himself.

"I thought apologizing was a sign of weakness, Boss."

"It is. That doesn't mean I can't indulge every once in a while."

Tim laughed, in spite of himself, and then, again against his will, yawned widely.

Gibbs didn't seem offended. He just stood. "Good night, McGee."

"'Night, Boss." Tim watched Gibbs leave and then slumped just a little lower in the bed. He was swiftly on his way to sleep again, but he couldn't help but notice that Gibbs had _not_ said he was getting his job back. All that, and nothing to hang onto. He felt that the situation was hopeless. Gibbs had certainly made him feel a bit better, but it was terrible to think that he _still_ didn't have a job. _I'll have to think of something_, was his last conscious thought before the pain medication finally put him to sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Jenny sat quietly on a chair, looking at the man lying asleep not ten feet from her. She hated to admit it, hated to admit that Gibbs might still have the right answer before she did, but this time... She shook her head. Almost more than that horrible few hours when they thought Tony might be dead, she felt that this situation was her own fault. Abby had laid it all out quite clearly, if a little quickly. That marker was on Tim's computer. He might have found it if she hadn't so easily allowed her own anger to cloud her judgment. But for the IV and the heart monitor, Tim looked completely normal. It was only on his charts that what he had endured really came to light. The x-rays of his leg, those two knives which had been used with the express intent of causing as much pain and damage as possible, the incredible luck that he wouldn't have any lasting damage from the electric shock, all of it was glaringly obvious in his medical charts. As Director of NCIS, Jenny had found that very few doors were closed to her, and this one had posed no serious difficulty beyond her own guilt... and her own pride. She didn't want to be here, apologizing to one of her agents. Well, she had made her own decision... again. This time, she was more certain that it was the correct decision to make.

Tim began to stir and his eyelids fluttered a little as he regained consciousness. His face paled a little as he injudiciously moved his injured leg. The damage had been extensive, but not permanent. He'd be hobbling for a few weeks before all the tissue damage was repaired. He hadn't yet noticed her presence.

"Good morning, McGee," she said casually and felt a stab of enjoyment at watching his face. He couldn't seem to decide how he felt about her being there. She was glad to see a hint of anger on his face. He deserved to be angry.

"Director," he said. She was relieved that his voice sounded normal, if a little weaker than usual. "What are you doing here?"

"I have some last minute business with you, McGee."

A flash of fear illuminated his eyes. She had never really noticed how incredibly expressive Tim's eyes were. Every single emotion he felt was there for all to see if they cared to look. She never had before.

"What is it?"

"I made a mistake."

"Oh?" The hope in his eyes was astonishing. After all he'd gone through, he still wanted his job back. She would never have stuck it out in his place. She didn't think that she'd ever understand Tim's devotion. It went far beyond loyalty.

"Yes, it was a mistake to fire you. I let my own feelings get in the way and I got rid of someone who is vital to the successful operation of NCIS."

Tim blushed, not violently, but enough that Jenny could see it.

"If you still wish to work for me, McGee, your job is available. There is still a hole in Gibbs' team and I think he'd like you to fill it."

"Really?" The word was nothing more than a soft whisper of disbelief. He wanted to be completely certain that he hadn't misheard her. He didn't want his hopes dashed again.

"Yes," Jenny looked at the object sitting in her lap. "This is yours, I believe." She held it out.

Tim stared at it for a long moment before stretching out his own hand to take it, reverently holding it in his palm.

"Would you like your job back, McGee?"

He nodded. "Yes." Again, a single word, but within that word was a wealth of emotion. She almost smiled, but quickly schooled her expression, keeping it all business.

"Alright then, Agent McGee," she almost lost it at his subtle straightening in the bed when she used the title. "I'll work out getting your back pay and putting you on the sick leave listing. Your doctor said that you'll be fit for release in a day or two, but when you come back, you'll be on desk duty for at least a month while your leg heals."

He nodded mutely.

"Any questions?"

No words, just a shake of the head.

"Good. Welcome back, Agent McGee."

"Thank you, Director."

She nodded and left Tim still staring at the object in his hand.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim was almost in tears when Abby came to see him.

"Tim? What's wrong?"

Wordlessly, he held out his hand. "She gave me my badge back."

"Oh, Tim! You're coming back!"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." Tim was still dazed, even an hour later.

"You should be celebrating, Tim!" Abby threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "_I'm_ celebrating! I've got my geek back."

Tim smiled at the phrase. The badge had not dissolved in his hands. It had not disappeared. It was really there. Jenny had actually come to his room and given it to him. He couldn't figure out why he wasn't dancing... figuratively speaking, of course. He should be ecstatic. He was, but there was something missing, and he wasn't sure just what it was.

"We'll have to have a huge welcome back party!" Abby was saying.

Tim suddenly clicked back into the conversation going on without him. "No, Abby. I don't want a party."

Abby's exuberance suddenly deflated like a balloon. "Why not? Aren't you coming back? Aren't you happy?"

"I _am_ coming back, Abby. I am... _really_ happy that I have my job again. I just, I don't want big deal. I just want to come back and have it be like I never left. Do you understand?"

Abby looked into Tim's eyes. While Jenny had never noticed them before, Abby had. Tim really was happy if still a little amazed. He was also a little embarrassed by the attention.

"Okay, Tim. I won't make you suffer through a party." She grinned evilly. "But you have to promise me something in return."

He finally took his eyes off the badge still in his hand. "What's that?" he asked warily.

"You have to get drunk with me."

Tim looked absolutely horrified for a moment, but then, he smiled as well. "Only if you can keep me from dancing."

Abby laughed. "I don't think I ever even _seen_ you do anything that could legitimately qualify as dancing, Tim."

"Oh, hush. We've already had this discussion." He pushed her playfully away from him. "If you promise to keep from making too much of a fool of myself, I will promise to burn away another layer of my stomach lining."

"Shake on it." Abby stuck out her hand.

Tim hesitated and then grasped Abby's hand in his own and shook firmly. "I'm going to regret this. I just know it."

Unexpectedly, Abby teared up. "I'm just so glad that you are around to regret _anything_." She hugged him tightly again, ignoring his small protest. "Don't ever do anything like that again, Timothy McGee."

"I promise, Abby. That is one thing I _never_ want to do again." Tim held her close and smiled to himself. He was going home!


	23. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

A week later, Tim snuck into NCIS all by himself. Well, _snuck_ was probably the wrong word. That implied some level of stealth, and with the cane he was using, _clomped_ was probably a better description of his method of entry. No one was around. He was early. He had planned on coming to put all of his stuff back in and on his desk and to clean up anything that might have been messed with in his absence. He was also worried that Abby would go back on her promise that she wouldn't try to throw a party for him. He _really_ didn't want to get in trouble again, and having a party celebrating his return after his embarrassing dismissal was probably not the way to win back confidence.

As he approached his desk, he was surprised at how orderly it was, almost as if someone had cleaned and straightened it for him. A small smile lit up his face. He limped over to his desk and sat down at it, relishing the feeling. He was back where he belonged. His smile grew wider as he put his personal items back on his desk. It wasn't that there were a whole lot of things that he had wanted to return, but it was just the action of actually doing it, reasserting his ownership of the desk, that made all the difference in the world. He didn't actually do anything; he just sat quietly and basked in the feeling of being back at NCIS.

"McGee!" Gibbs shouted at him as he stepped off the elevator.

Tim shot to his feet and winced a little as he put too much weight on his injured leg. "Yes, Boss?"

"Are you supposed to be here?"

For a horrible instant, Tim thought Gibbs was questioning his rehiring and it must have shown on his face because Gibbs elaborated. "Aren't you supposed to be _recuperating_ still?"

Tim's heart started beating regularly again. "I start desk duty today, Boss."

Gibbs didn't respond directly. "Abby's been pestering me about when you'd be coming back; go down to the lab and see her so she'll get back to work."

"Yes, Boss!" In his haste, Tim momentarily forgot his need for ambulatory assistance, took a step and nearly fell. Not daring to look at Gibbs, he turned around, grabbed the cane and clomped to elevator. He was surprised when Gibbs got on the elevator as well. They rode in awkward silence, at least it was awkward on Tim's end. He had no idea how Gibbs was feeling as he looked characteristically unruffled. The elevator stopped at the lab and Tim got off... followed by Gibbs.

_Okay, this is really weird. Why is Gibbs following me?_ The sanity of the world was still a bit precarious as far as Tim was concerned. He wondered when, or if, things would return to normal. He limped into the lab and there was silence... no music, no lights even. Yes, the world was still a little crazy. Gibbs wasn't saying anything, and Tim didn't dare turn around and ask him what he was doing there. Suddenly, a spotlight turned on and blinded him. Seconds later, pounding music joined the mix. It was loud, but it wasn't Abby's usual music. What was it? Tim's face turned a brilliant shade of red as he recognized the dulcet tones of They Might Be Giants. It wasn't the song he'd sung to Ziva. He still recognized it right away.

"Sing along, Tim!" Abby's voice came from the darkness beyond the bright light. "I know you know the words!"

"Come on, Probie!" Tony's voice added to the mix, as did Ziva's with added encouragement: "You sing better than they do, McGee!"

He couldn't see any of them. He _knew_ Gibbs must still be right behind him, and he couldn't turn around and look. What would he _say_?

What he ended up saying shocked Tim more than a million volts of electricity could have.

"What are you waiting for, McGee?"

Completely stunned by Gibbs' wry question, Tim couldn't say a single word.

Then, Abby gave him a brief respite by saying, "I know which song you need to sing, Tim. I'll bet you know it, too. It was probably your theme song!"

"Um, Abby...?"

"Nope, nothing doing, Tim. I didn't tell everyone about this, just the team. You're not even in trouble!" She found the appropriate song. "Sing, Tim! Sing!"

Ziva stepped to the edge of the spotlight and gave him a significant look, reminding him of what she had said before.

Tim looked back and forth between Ziva to the blank spaces where he was sure Tony and Abby were waiting. He started to laugh helplessly and closed his eyes. Then, predictably, he began to sing along, word for word, note for note.

"There's only one thing that I know how to do well and I've often been told that you only should do what you know how to do well and that's be you. Be what you're like. Be like yourself..."

As the chorus continued, Tim was surprised that Tony and Ziva joined in, as did Abby. She started rocking out in front of the spotlight, casting strange shadows on Tim's face. Finally, the song was done, Tim was still blushing furiously and the spotlight went out. When the regular lights came back on, Tim was face to face with a very small cake reading, "Welcome back, Agent McGee!" In fact, the cake was so small that the last two 'e's were falling off the side.

"Welcome back, Tim," Abby said, hugging him tightly. Then, she looked past him to Gibbs. "Well, Gibbs? Short and sweet enough?"

Tim finally screwed up his courage enough to turn back to Gibbs. Far from looking annoyed, he looked quite amused.

He raised an eyebrow and said, "Yes, Abby. Short enough. Now, McGee, you have files to go through up at your desk, and the rest of you, we have a case, so get back to work!"

The team scattered and Tim went back up to his desk. He was disappointed at not being able to go out into the field yet, but he was back and soon he would be doing all the things he loved to do. People wandered in and out of the bullpen throughout the day, as usual. Many of them welcomed him back, but it was all hurried and Tim was able just to smile and thank them before getting on with his own work.

The end of the work day approached stealthily, and suddenly it was time to leave. Tim started gathering his reports and filing them all away, relishing the fact that he was doing something he loved. He stood and turned to leave. Gibbs was right there... Tim would never figure out how he could just appear like that.

"Here, Boss," he said, quickly handing him his final reports.

Gibbs took them without comment and put them on his desk. Tim expected nothing more and headed toward the elevator. Then, just as the doors began to close, Gibbs said, "McGee!"

"Yes, Boss?"

"Welcome back."

Tim grinned widely. He couldn't help it. "Thanks, Boss!" The doors closed.


End file.
